He’d never thought of himself as kinky. Just a normal, red blooded, average, sex obsessed teenager. So why was it that just touching the ropes he used to lash Spike to the chair gave him a hard on that hurt – and even that was a sensation he was coming to anticipate?
He sat in Spike’s chair - no, his chair, it was still his; the vampire owned nothing but the clothes he wore - the ropes in a loose coil in his lap. Slowly, he ran them through his hands, letting them slip through his fingers, wrapping them around his wrists, tugging them snugly tight until the coarse fabric bit deep, slackening them off and studying the reddened marks they left with a curious pride.
His breath was shorter now, shallow gasps, loud in the quiet basement, desperate little noises that added to the sensations building up deep down, eruption imminent.
But he’d been doing this for a long time. Years. He could come in under a minute if he wanted to – but why would he? Make it last, draw it out, tease himself with a stern, merciless control and he knew what the reward would be; one of those climaxes that left him shuddering and spent, his whole body loose and relaxed. He didn’t think it mattered how often he had sex, real sex, with a real woman, he still wanted to do this, have this space of time when his pleasure was all that mattered and no excess was too much in the world behind his eyes.
So he unzipped his jeans, eased out a cock that was twitching and eager, wrapped his hand around it and began to dream -
- the look in his blue eyes as the rope came out of the locked chest where he kept stakes and other weapons, the lips tightening in pain as he pulled the ropes just a little tighter than needful, the way he flexed his hips up, just slightly, just enough to tease but not enough to be an invitation, the feel of his cool skin as the knots were fastened, tied, tethered, helpless, his -
Xander’s fist was pumping hard now, the rope forgotten, falling to the floor. His eyes were squeezed shut and his left hand was cupping his balls, rolling them roughly, just enough to make him tingle, not enough to really hurt. As his fist rose to the top of his cock, his thumb slid over the head, slippery and tender now, flicking it once, twice, before his hand slid back down.
He was about to relent, about to allow himself the release that would let him use the ropes on Spike with some measure of control later on, when cool hands slipped down his chest, the rope stretched between them. His eyes snapped open as the rope pinned his arms and he cried out, an inarticulate panicked sound that made his captor smile slowly with satisfaction. The rope was tied behind the chair, out of reach, and Xander waited in numb silence, his cock still hard despite his terror, waited for the inevitable scorn, saturated in embarrassment and shame.
Spike walked around, his footsteps as noiseless as a cat’s, and stood in front of Xander, his arms crossed. He was still wearing his coat and as Xander stared at the carpet, unable to raise his eyes to meet Spike’s, it slipped from his shoulders and fell in a slither of leather to the floor. Xander’s eyes flicked up to Spike’s face then and he swallowed. The expression on Spike’s face could have been summed up in just one word. Hungry.
Now Xander couldn’t look away. Spike kicked off his boots and skinned the t shirt over his head, before his hand went to his belt buckle. He hesitated then and Xander tensed, so close to begging but not sure what he would be pleading for. Spike moved closer, standing between Xander’s knees, as close as he could get.
“Undo it,” he said quietly.
The words hung in the silence that followed, almost tangible, floating like feathers, tickling Xander’s ears, tormenting him. Xander felt them echo inside a head empty of anything but despairing, terrified lust. His arms were lashed to his sides just above the elbows but by straining against the ropes, he could just reach the buckle. Fumbling, he managed to undo it, sliding the supple leather free. His fingers curled around the button of Spike’s jeans and began to work it free. He bit his lip as it eluded him and his attempt failed.
The words were laced with a tolerant amusement and they spurred him on to try again. The button popped open and he scrabbled for the zip eagerly.
“Easy now, don’t want to - ahh.”
The voice trailed off as Xander reached in and grasped at flesh as hard as his was. For the first time, he was touching someone else’s cock and the difference was so intriguing that he almost forgot his situation, as curiosity led him to explore his new toy. His hand was gently brushed away and he felt a moment of anguished rejection. Spike knelt down so that his eyes were level with Xander’s and stared at him.
“You sure about this, Harris?” he said. “Going to see me right?”
Xander nodded, unable to speak, and Spike stood up in a swift surge of movement and gripped Xander’s head, pulling it forward. Xander opened his lips and felt the thick, smooth, impossibly hard cock slide into his mouth. He choked and Spike eased off a little, letting him adjust to the unfamiliar taste and feel. Slowly, Spike began to fuck Xander’s mouth, watching intently as Xander’s lips slid over his cool flesh. Spike wasn’t cruel but he wasn’t gentle either. Any attempts by Xander to control the situation were punished by a withdrawal that left him moaning inarticulately. His hands were allowed to grip Spike’s legs but not his own aching erection. When his hips began to rise in a frantic, fruitless rhythm, trying to reach anything that wasn’t thin, insubstantial air, Spike’s hands fisted painfully in his hair until he sank back.
In the end, he submitted, sucking then swallowing obediently, quivering but still as Spike took what he wanted from him. As Spike pulled out, his cock still hard for the moment, shining and wet, Xander looked at him and saw the ice-blue eyes melt just for a moment.
“You just going to leave me like this?” Xander said, his voice hoarse but with a flame of rebellion beginning to burn inside him.
“For a while, yeah.”
“How long?” said Xander, a note of panic beginning to show.
Amusement flickered in those gleaming eyes and he watched, stupefied, as Spike dropped to his knees.
“Depends on you, pet,” said Spike, leaning forward and giving the underside of Xander’s cock a thoughtful, leisurely swipe with his tongue. “How long can you keep it up?”
Spike stood and looked at Xander, lying back in the chair, mouth hanging open from his final scream, hands hanging limp. “Well that’s you sorted,” he remarked. “Fancy a beer?”
Xander’s head jerked up sharply, post orgasmic bliss replaced by indignation. “Hey! Some of us are still tied up here, mister!”
Spike turned, an open beer already in his hand, his naked body pale in the dim light of the basement. “So you are, and don’t you look sweet.”
Xander spluttered with rage and began to tug at the ropes.
“Now, now, Xander. You’ll hurt yourself, pet.”
“Can you go back to ‘Harris’? I’d really prefer it.”
A flash of hurt passed over Spike’s face. “So we still not on first name terms then? Fine. Stay in the bloody chair. I’ll have the bed for once.”
He walked over to the bed, wrinkled his nose disdainfully and lay down. “For someone who lives in the same room as the washing machine, these sheets are a bit ripe,” he said.
Xander closed his eyes for a moment and then said firmly, “Let me out, Spike. Now.”
“Listen, evil dead –”
Spike placed his bottle on the table beside the bed, setting it down with exaggerated care, centering it precisely. Xander watched him with relief, assuming that he was about to be freed. Spike’s feet slammed down on the floor and he sprang at Xander, landing in his lap, game face on, hands planted on either side of Xander’s head. His speed and the ferocity on his face were enough to make Xander forget all about the chip and cower back for one moment of atavistic terror.
“You don’t call me names, got it? Not after you’ve had your tongue wrapped around my cock like a kid with a melting ice cream.”
Xander recovered from the fear that he was going to die and began to wish for it, fervently and sincerely, instead. “I’m voting for that to be something we forget ever happened. All in favour?” His voice squeaked and he winced.
Spike shook his head slowly. “Oh, dearie me. And I was planning to mention it, first chance I got, to the Slayer.” The sarcastic tone of voice was wonderfully reassuring until he cocked his head to one side and said, “Though come to think of it, it would be funny to see her face...”
“It’d be the last thing you saw,” Xander hissed, pulling against the ropes. “Because if she didn’t stake you, I would.”
Spike pretended to look hurt. “You’d kill a helpless demon trying to turn over a new leaf? Not very honourable, is it? Besides –” he leaned in close and kissed Xander’s neck just where Xander guessed his fangs would pierce, “don’t tell me you’d stake me when you haven’t even fucked me yet? Bit of a waste.”
Images flashed through Xander’s mind, all erotic, all disturbing, all featuring Spike and someone who looked very much like – no!
“Spike. Untie me.”
“You keep saying that,” Spike complained. “Anyone’d think you didn’t want to expand your horizons a bit first...”
Xander felt his eyebrows rise and the hair on the back of his neck keep it company. “What – what did you have in mind?” I can always stake him afterwards, he thought.
Spike smiled, eased off Xander and walked over to the cupboard where Xander kept... things Spike shouldn’t know about because the door was locked, they were in a box and that was locked and...
“Well, this gives me some ideas but you being all innocent and pure you’ll probably need showing, right?”
Xander dragged horrified eyes away from the small, half empty bottle of lube Spike was holding and looked at him pleadingly. “Spike – please.”
Spike pursed his lips, his eyes running up and down Xander’s body. “You’re hard again,” he observed flatly. Xander didn’t even glance down at his cock, still exposed, his jeans peeled back by his own hands. He knew he was hard. Spike was naked in front of him. He couldn’t imagine why he’d ever be anything else if that were the case. Besides, Spike couldn’t talk...
Spike sighed. “You think I’m being unfair, getting off on making you suffer.” Xander managed an ironic smile and Spike laughed. “True; that’s part of it, but it’s not the only reason you’re getting rope burns.”
“Revenge?” Xander asked.
Spike shrugged. “Little bit, yeah. We both know there’s no reason you’ve been tying me up except that you get a kick from it and it’s not my favourite way of spending the night. Not when you just leave me there, anyway.”
“So, I’m sorry, okay? Won’t do it again. Now –”
Spike walked over to him and laid a finger across Xander’s lips. “Shut up. You’re staying there until you tell me why you were wanking to the tune of my name. Don’t get me wrong – it’s perfectly understandable because I’m sexy and you’re desperate, but I want you to admit it.”
Xander’s eyes closed and he took a deep breath. “You want,” he said carefully, “you want me to admit that I was turned on by the idea of tying you up? That I got off on it? That I’m thinking about you like that? Then you’ll let me go?”
Spike looked insufferably smug. “Might.”
“Sod off.” Xander had heard Giles say that once and saved it up to use himself. This seemed like a good time.
Spike threw back his head and growled. “Oh, fine. Bloody well stay repressed and boring.” He fumbled with the knots and untied the ropes before turning away looking satisfyingly moody and frustrated. Xander stood up, worked out the kinks, kicked off his jeans and shorts, took three steps, pushed Spike face forward onto the bed and landed on top of him. The vampire struggled for a moment and then relaxed. “Mind sharing your thoughts here?”
Xander smiled and tweaked the bottle of lube from Spike’s hand. “Let me see. This opens – oh, look at that! The top flips. Clever. Saves mess –except, will you look at that; I spilled it and it’s going everywhere. All over my hand. Maybe I should wipe it off; do you mind if I use you? No? And there’s still a bit left... pity to waste it... So, talk me through this, will you? I wouldn’t want to make any mistakes...”
Spike tried to twist his head around so that he could see Xander and then gasped as Xander eased into him on a wave of slick. “Think you’ve got the hang of it...”
“Good. I’d hate for you to get the idea I was – useless – incompetent – a total –loser-”
The thrusts were timed with the bitter words and Xander let the anger rise and swamp the panic yammering away in his head. He could tell that he wasn’t quite – and then Spike moved, tilting his hips, and Xander felt the difference at once. Spike was pliant, open, and was making sounds that wrapped around Xander’s mind and held it tight and safe. Then Spike’s head turned and Xander saw what raw need and desire looked like and nothing was safe anymore. He came, his hips snapping forward with a brutal speed, collapsing against Spike’s back, biting his shoulder as the last spasm of release left him shuddering and empty.
Spike let him slide free and gave him thirty seconds to bring his heartbeat down from racing to hammering before taking Xander’s hand and moving it. “Not done yet, Harris,” he murmured.
Xander stared at him hazily and said deliberately, “Going to tie me up first?”
“Do I have to?”
“Let me rephrase that; do you want me to?”
Spike leaned in and kissed him hard. “Going to make you scream...”
“Sort of hoped you would,” Xander whispered.
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