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Part 45 |
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New Year’s Eve. Surprisingly awake by He gave Spike a few kisses, just enough to bring him to consciousness. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m going to go out for a while. You okay with that or do you want me to hex you?” Spike made a dismissive noise and drifted straight back to sleep. Xander kept his wandering hands under strict control and got up, showered, kissed Spike, dressed, kissed Spike, breakfasted, kissed Spike goodbye, exited the bedroom, came back and kissed him again, then finally left. … Spike was aware of Xander leaving, the Merc driving away from the house. He’d risen to Xander’s kisses, just somewhat too late. With a satisfied sigh he spread out into Xander’s side of the bed and hugged the pillow to him, taking in the scent and rubbing his face in it, glad to be here rather than in Sunnydale, glad to be here rather than anywhere. He dropped his guard and vigorously purred. Until he felt the sensation of someone climbing onto the end of the bed, and froze. No-one there, all in my head, no-one there… Oh, fuck, Xander, why’d you go? No-one there, all in my head, no-one there… Cautiously opening his eyes, Spike focused. Riley Finn was sitting, pretty and perfectly whole, on the foot of the bed. Oh…fuck. Fuck. They stared at each other in silence for some time; Spike’s breathing came and went. He poked the image with his foot. Nothing. His body knew there was nothing there even if his head didn’t. “You’re not here,” he told Riley. Riley seemed surprised at that, taking a good look at his corporeal form. “I seem to be.” “You’re dead.” “I think I’d remember dying.” “You’re dead. Angel saw to it.” “You believe he cares enough to do that?” No. “Yes. Xander told him to.” “You believe Xander cares enough to do that?” No. “Yes.” Riley smirked. “Then what am I doing here?” “There’s something wrong in my head.” “I see. You think…I’m a manifestation of your inability to reconcile yourself to acceptance? My abhorrence of everything you are is a more credible reaction than the love and devotion of a man who is clearly your superior in all ways?” Spike blinked a few times, poked Riley with his foot again. Nothing. “Answer the question, you contemptible piece of shit.” “Maybe,” Spike replied after taking a few seconds to think about being unacceptable and abhorrent. “Ever ask yourself why Xander bothers with you?” Constantly. “No.” “He’s made an extraordinary commitment to an aberration of nature, hasn’t he? But Xander is fundamentally a decent man, so how long can this possibly last? Do you ever worry that you’re only one fuck away from his boredom threshold? One idiotic act or comment away from him accidentally leaving the shutters open when he goes to work?” Yes. “No.” Riley grinned. “Do you think… - you’ll like this, this is the funny part - do you think he can genuinely love something so flawed, so dysfunctional, a drain on his emotions and finances if not his intellect, a whore who can’t fully perform the duties…” “Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off!” Spike screamed, out of the bed and swinging wildly at thin air. “Sore spot?” Riley asked knowingly. Spike spun around to see the soldier sitting in the space he’d just vacated. “You’re dead. In here…” Spike pounded fingers against his temple. “…I can see you dead. Sometimes it’s all that keeps me going. I’ve spent hours picturing you dead.” “You mean like this?” Riley’s face burned as Spike watched, crisping and turning black, splitting grotesquely as the skin cooked and shrivelled, eyeballs melting and dribbling over charcoaled flesh. “That’s a good look on you,” Spike said coldly, unmoved and disappointingly unsatisfied by the representation. Riley stirred and rose, ruined body leaving burns, grease, liquid shit over Xander’s pillow and sheets; Spike felt the defilement in every scrap of his being and knew that was as close as this loathsome creature would get to contaminating his lover. Riley approached Spike with a confident swagger, brushing aside the ashes that were his clothes, revealing a grotesquely damaged erect penis that swung obscenely, shedding scraps of scorched flesh into the air. “Where do you want it, leech?” The vampire drew back in revulsion, reflexively breathing and taking in the stench, gagging and retching. However real this felt, Spike knew it was in his head, and seeing fried Riley was so much easier than hearing the elusive, intimidating noises that regularly tormented him. Right now he just needed…grounding. And that meant Xander. Ducking past the charred stumps that reached for him, Spike grabbed up the phone and hit the memory. “You okay?” came Xander’s anxious voice within seconds. “Spike?” “Xander…” Spike whispered with relief. “I’ll come home right now.” “No, you won’t.” Spike looked around the room, took a breath: no disintegrating Riley, no filthy sheets, no gut-rolling smell. “Bad dream and I wanted to hear your voice. Tell me.” “I love you, sweetheart. I love you.” “I need to ask you…” “Yes?” Xander asked after a short wait. Spike took a deep breath. “Can you genuinely love someone so flawed?” “What?” “Can you genuinely love someone…” “Yeah, I heard you. I just can’t believe I heard you say that.” “Can you?” “Spike, I do genuinely love you and you’re not…” No, wait, wait, I know this, I’ve learnt this, I can do this. “Yes,” Xander said definitely. “Can you genuinely love someone so dysfunctional?” “Yes.” “Who is a drain on your emotions and finances if not your intellect?” “Yes.” “A whore who can’t fully perform his duties?” “Fucking hell, Spike, where is this shit coming from?” “Me,” Spike admitted quietly. “It’s coming from me.” Xander was speechless for a few seconds. “Why?” he eventually stuttered. “It’s in me, Xander, I can’t help it.” “I’ll turn around right now and…” “Don’t.” “I can’t just leave you…” “You can. Tell me.” “I love you, I genuinely love you.” “That’s enough.” They exchanged affectionate goodbyes and Spike broke the connection, slowly put the phone back in its charger while he scanned every inch of the room, over and over, afraid to blink in case the phantom reappeared. Ten minutes of nothing and Spike made himself move, quickly stripping down the bed and replacing the… Burnt, greasy, shitty. …sheets with fresh ones that smelt of cleanliness and conditioner, and resurrected a hundred memories of being taken by Xander surrounded by that smell. Better. Into the shower and, despite the thick, fruity aroma of the shower gel Xander had used, the scent of his lover was still discernible. Better. Letting Xander’s words loop constantly through his head, Spike finally began to feel reassured of his place in Xander’s affections, and it wasn’t long before he was wondering why he’d ever had doubts. Off my rocker, was the familiar conclusion. Off my rocker, and Xander doesn’t care that I’m off my rocker. He smiled to himself. Better. … When Xander arrived home he rushed upstairs to hide away his surprise for Spike in a spare bedroom, then went looking for the vampire, finding him cleaning out the kitchen cupboards. “What are you doing that now for?” he asked with bemusement. “Keeping busy.” “You could be in your studio.” Embarrassment flickered over the vampire’s features and Xander understood: Spike had come downstairs and not been able to go up again for all the usual reasons. “Where did you go?” Spike asked, needing to change the subject. That brought a grin to Xander’s face. “Secret.” Spike’s interest was instantly roused. “What kind of secret?” “If I tell you it won’t be a secret anymore.” “How long does it have to stay a secret?” “Not long. I just need to…” Xander gestured vaguely toward the stairs. “Then go and…” Spike repeated the gesture. “Wait in the living room when you’re done here.” Spike nodded, received an enthusiastic kiss for his unquestioningly compliance, and started to tingle with anticipation at the unknown cause of Xander’s excitement. … Xander fetched the suit bag from the spare room and hung it on the back of their bedroom door, unzipping it and studying the contents with apprehensive glee. Patrick had been more than happy to lend him the appropriate clothing for a traditional Hogmanay, pointedly refusing to admit that he knew exactly what was going on in an attempt to save Xander’s blushes. Beth, however, was more intent on maximum effect, and had taken Xander aside, advised him to be selective, and told him how the outfit looked most…appealing. Now Xander threw off his own clothes, hesitating only momentarily before pulling on the white shirt. The soft cotton fell loosely in gentle folds, gaping at the neck until Xander pulled the laces and tied them when the opening was half closed, leaving plenty of flesh on show, knowing how Spike admired the contours of his upper chest, particularly the lines of his collarbone. As per Beth’s instructions, he rolled the billowing sleeves up to just below his elbows. He handled the kilt almost reverently. It was the same tartan that Patrick had been wearing a few evenings previously - dark green background, wide check in blue and black, with finer lines of white and red - but the material was older, worn, and the sense of age and use made it a beautiful thing. He wrapped it around himself and fastened it, smoothing the shirt into the waistband. An um and an ah before he reached under and shucked out of his boxers. Thick oatmeal-coloured socks to his calves and an old pair of dark suede hiking boots. He finished lacing the boots and stood, fiddled around and made himself comfortable, and finally looked in the mirror. He tried his best to see himself as Spike would. Think Spike’s gonna like this. Like this as in smoke pouring out of his ears. He scrubbed his fingers in his hair and, yes, untidy was even better. Xander turned and strained to look over his shoulder, running his hands over his backside. Oh, yeah, nice ass. I finally get it. A wide grin appeared on the face in the mirror and now Xander only had to pluck up the courage to present this to Spike. Every step down the stairs was met with a fresh doubt, the worst, most consistent being Spike’s laughter or ridicule in some shape or form. Oh, fuck, Xander Harris in a skirt, what was I thinking? But he’d got this far and was determined to see it through, and he was damned if he was going to go about it apologetically. With swift strides he went to the living room, pausing for a brief moment of panic outside the door before entering and waiting for Spike’s attention. The vampire was staring absently out of the window, totally preoccupied with whatever crap was going on his head, and Xander knew he had a few seconds to turn and run, but he stood his ground and cleared his throat. Oh, fuck, Xander in a skirt. Spike turned and focused, eyes
widening as he took in his lover from head to toe and back again, mouth
slightly open as if the comment he was about to make had frozen in his
throat. But Xander knew the expression… Pure. Lust. …and he couldn’t help the swell
of pride he felt at causing that reaction.
Spike swallowed hard and tried to speak, but his voice failed as Xander
slowly rotated. Before he’d finished
turning Spike was by him, hands clenching and loosening at his sides as if he
wanted to touch but wouldn’t let himself. “You like it then?” Xander asked in faux innocence. “I, umm…” Spike swallowed
again. “Yes.” “It’s what you wanted. It’s for
you.” “Fucking hell, Xander, you have no idea…” He took a deep breath. “Come with me.” “In which sense?” Spike took his hand and, after detouring for the camera, led Xander up
to the studio with no thought of the phantom that had made it impossible
earlier. He positioned Xander against a
backdrop before switching on and adjusting lights. Not what Xander had been expecting but he
went along with it, letting Spike pose and re-pose him as he snapped away. Fetching the posing stool, Spike perched rather than sat Xander,
arranged his legs in such a way that the muscles of his calves were flexed and
pronounced; he ran his hands over the shapes, drifting up under the kilt and
onto Xander’s thighs for just a brief touch.
The next picture Spike took showed exactly where Xander was looking, and
it would be a permanent reminder of the achingly hard cock trapped in the
vampire’s jeans. Back to Xander and Spike loosened the laces of the shirt, bowing his
head to lick between them, suckling Xander’s collarbone as his hands ran over
the hard stomach and up to gently pinch nipples that pebbled beneath his
fingertips. Spike’s mouth moved to Xander’s
neck to feel the vibration of the human’s moan, and he leant into the caress as
Xander found the bulge in his jeans and explored. Spike’s suckling intensified, drawing blood
to the surface of Xander’s skin, leaving a ruddy stain that would be visible in
all the following photographs. Further onto the stool and Xander’s arousal was becoming obvious
despite the weight of the heavy cloth.
Spike had Xander rest his hands, fingers splayed, on his thighs,
unobtrusively framing the swelling. More
pictures and Spike was unconsciously rubbing himself as he instructed Xander to
rearrange the fall of the kilt, provocatively exposing more of his thighs. “Look at me… Look at me as if
you’re about to whip out your claymore…” “Is that what the Scots call it?” “Sword, Xander, big old sword.
You’re about to grab your sword and finish off the invading Sassenach hordes.” “So I’m grabbing my weapon and using it on the nearest Englishman?” Xander said, desperately trying to keep a straight face. “The one that just hacked open my skull, yeah.” Spike pressed the shutter release and caught the flashes of upset then fury in Xander’s eyes as the mental picture shoved the bad double entendres aside. Putting down the camera, Spike went and pulled Xander to his feet and up close, ghosting their lips together as he took hold of the material at Xander’s hips, bunching it up until his hands could slip beneath, gasping at the contact with bare flesh and stroking his palms over the firm buttocks, fingertips teasing the valley between. Letting the kilt drop Spike stood back for a calming minute, supposedly calming at least. A glance down at the distorted tartan between them and Spike was breathing. He pushed Xander to the stool and sat him down, backing off to grab the camera and take a few shots with that tented material, then rearranging the kilt to reveal just a hint of Xander’s thigh, erection and balls; his thumb unintentionally brushed over the engorged head, drawing a shuddering breath from his human. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Spike murmured as he took the picture from several angles, his free hand drifting to rub himself time and again, fingers becoming damp from the pre-come soaking through the denim. A nod for Xander to take the next step and Spike was literally drooling as Xander opened the kilt enough to let his cock spring free. A dozen more shots and Spike couldn’t resist any longer, he had to touch or taste. Xander’s eyes darkened at his approach, frustrated when Spike fended off his reaching hands, but moaning appreciatively when Spike immediately leant down and licked his cock from base to tip before engulfing it, treating it to some severe suction until Xander pulled him away with some urgency. The camera went to Spike’s eye and he took a close-up of the rigid member, glossy with his saliva. Grabbing Xander’s hand he brought it to cup his own balls, encouraging him to rhythmically squeeze and waiting for a fresh burst of pre-come, snapping as it dribbled from the slit and hung from the swollen glans. Still taking pictures, Spike backed up until he had the complete portrait once again, directing Xander to lightly touch the underside of his cock… “As if you’re offering it to me.” …and Xander did as he was told, face showing the strain of keeping himself from doing more. “I want to come, Spike,” he said hoarsely, “and I want you to be a part of it, not taking photos.” “Yes, love,” Spike answered distantly, still transfixed by the picture he was viewing and the focus it gave him: nothing existed beyond Xander and his beautiful body and his beautiful, beautiful cock. “Spike!” “Yes, love.” This time Spike paid attention, looking at Xander without the detachment of a lens; the image sent some very direct messages to his groin, which swiftly passed them on to his brain. “Make me come, Xander.” He didn’t have to ask twice. Within seconds Xander was on his knees before Spike, rushing to get his fly open, taking his cock into his mouth the second it was physically possible. It reminded Spike of just how turned on he was, and his legs wobbled on the edge of collapse before Xander’s hands grabbed his hips and supported him. The hot tongue swirled over the head, probing and playing over slit and foreskin, before Spike was taken deep; one of Xander’s hands trailed from his hip to his balls, nails scraping, scraping, scraping over the sensitive skin. Spike held the camera at arm’s length and photographed Xander’s ministrations, finger tightening spasmodically on the shutter release in time with his orgasm as it hit him hard, Xander holding him up once more as pulse after pulse of semen was expertly coaxed from his trembling body. Xander refused to relinquish his hold, gently playing his tongue over the twitching flesh as it softened then hardened. Once he was sure that Spike wasn’t going to collapse the moment he took his hands away, Xander pulled the jeans down, and Spike leant a hand on his head as he lifted one foot then the other to lose them entirely. Letting Spike’s cock slide from his lips, Xander stood and pulled off Spike’s t-shirt, running his hands over the newly exposed skin, tracing muscles and bones as Spike studied him and revelled in his fascination. Prising the camera out of Spike’s hand, Xander tossed it carelessly onto the desk before launching himself at the vampire, kissing and pawing as he brought them to the chaise longue, allowing himself to fall back onto it, taking Spike with him and oofing as they landed. Spike wriggled his hand between their bodies to play with Xander’s cock through the kilt for a few minutes before pulling the layers apart, thrusting their bare cocks together as they murmured and groaned into their kisses. Xander wrapped his legs around Spike’s, grinding up as the vampire licked down his neck and nuzzled his cotton-clad chest, sucking and nibbling at Xander’s nipples through the wet material. Xander’s hand cupped Spike’s chin, bringing his head up, and brown eyes met blue that sparkled with gold. Xander shivered longingly. “Spike… Wanna fuck me?” he whispered. “More than ever,” Spike answered, fast and honest. “Are you going to?” The temptation was almost overwhelming, but Riley, the filth on the sheets, was in Spike’s mind instantly, and the resolve not to let Xander be contaminated strengthened. Spike buried his face in Xander’s neck, silent and unmoving, wordlessly giving Xander his answer. A moment’s unseen disappointment and Xander was over it. “That’s okay. Guess I’ll just have to fuck you. Again and again and again…” “I’m sorry.” “No, don’t…” “I am sorry.” “I know.” Xander forced Spike’s head up, smiled and kissed him. “I know.” “A whore who can’t fully perform his duties,” Spike muttered bitterly as he broke away. Xander quickly pulled him back. “Nuh-uh, no going anywhere.” “I’m sorry, Xander.” “Hey, it’s no big deal, I just thought I’d ask. Manners, y’know? Your ass or mine? You want me to endlessly take you without asking whether… Okay, stupid question. Want to hit the bed?” “No!” Spike replied too quickly, adjusting his tone before speaking again. “Here. Fuck me here. We need to christen the studio so I can smell us fucking when I work in here.” Xander simply nodded his agreement and silently wished he had Spike’s olfactory senses. “I’ll fetch the slick.” Spike turned back at the door in time to see Xander undoing his bootlaces. “No, leave it on.” “All of it?” “All of it.” Spike strode confidently into the bedroom as if he didn’t expect to find Riley’s corpse fouling the atmosphere, then collapsed onto the edge of the bed with relief when he found himself alone. Couple of sharp inhalations and he was quietly laughing at himself and his ghosts and his cowardice, rifling through a cabinet drawer for a spare tube of lubricant to leave in the studio. Heading back to Xander was a pleasure on so many levels, and Spike briefly wondered if he’d ever be sane enough to keep his own company again. The sight of his human sitting on the chaise longue, arms outstretched along the back, deceptively casual until you saw the bulge of tartan-covered cock and the fire in his eyes, was enough to safely reduce Spike’s cognitive process to Xander, fuck, Xander, fuck, Xander… Kneeling between Xander’s feet he ran his hands over the hot mound, swiftly followed by his face as he rubbed his cheek against the concealed hardness, freeing fingers to loosen and lubricate himself. He bit the shaft of Xander’s erection through the material, aware of Xander’s head rolling back as he groaned, flaunting the strong column of his neck and making Spike’s cock jump furiously. “Can I unwrap this now?” Spike asked. “Yes, do, please, do, yes.” Spike took his time with this gift, slowly drawing back the cloth, dragging it across Xander’s cock and causing more groans. “Thank you, Xander. You always give me exactly what I want.” Spike’s tongue flickered over the weeping head before he allowed Xander to drag him onto his lap, feeling hot hands prising him apart and even hotter flesh stretching him open and filling him up. Xander joined them heavy-handedly, holding Spike’s shoulders and pulling him down until hips and thighs were pressed together and Spike was shaking with the sensation of Xander’s cock pushing hard, motionless into his prostate. “Fucking desperate to come,” Xander gasped against the vampire’s throat. “Do it,” Spike urged, “do it.” Xander gave a breathy laugh. “I want this to last. Oh…fuck…” Spike shrugged off Xander’s hold, entwining their fingers before beginning a delicate rise and fall, mindful of giving Xander an extra…five seconds? Spike smiled and watched Xander biting his bottom lip. “Think that can stop me draining your balls dry?” Spike whispered, and Xander moaned helplessly. “Not how a bite works, love.” And Spike dove for Xander’s neck, dropping his fangs and lightly piercing the skin. Writhing, yelling, Xander bucked up into him, lifting them both from the chaise longue as he experienced one of the fiercest orgasms of his life, driving into the vampire again and again as the pinpricks of pain and lapping at his neck sent shocks through his system and he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was bolts of lightning his cock was shooting into that marvellous body. “Bloody. Fucking. Hell,” he gasped when he was able.
Spike continued to suckle at the punctures in Xander’s neck, and Xander laid back in a boneless heap, fixated by sensations: the coldness on his chest and belly where Spike’s come was soaking through the shirt; his barely-softening cock throbbing in time with his heartbeat; the extraordinary body-wide tingle when he realised that Spike could carry on feeding and turn him and maybe – just maybe – he wouldn’t lift a finger to stop him. “You doing it?” Xander murmured. “What, love?” No response; Spike thought, understood. “No, Xander, I wouldn’t, not without you agreeing. Just helping you heal. Enjoying you,” he added with a smile that Xander could hear in his voice. “You’re so bloody gorgeous, you know that? Gonna love you forever.” Xander made a supreme effort and lifted his head to look at Spike. “Forever?” “I’m not talking about turning you now. The day you’re no longer here… That’ll be the end of forever for me. So I know I’m going to love you forever.” Tears welled in Xander’s eyes and Spike hugged him. “Let’s stop thinking, eh? Stop thinking and do what we do best.” Spike began to ride.
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