Heâd 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 Spikeâs 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 heâd 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 didnât 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 -
Xanderâs 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 catâs, 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
Spikeâs, it slipped from his shoulders and fell in a slither of leather
to the floor. Xanderâs eyes flicked up to Spikeâs face then and he
swallowed. The expression on Spikeâs face could have been summed up in
just one word. Hungry.
Now Xander couldnât 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 Xanderâs
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 Xanderâs 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 Spikeâs jeans and began to work it free. He
bit his lip as it eluded him and his attempt failed.
“Clumsy bugger.”
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, donât 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 elseâs 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 Xanderâs 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 Xanderâs 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 Xanderâs
mouth, watching intently as Xanderâs lips slid over his cool flesh.
Spike wasnât cruel but he wasnât 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 Spikeâs legs but
not his own aching erection. When his hips began to rise in a frantic,
fruitless rhythm, trying to reach anything that wasnât thin,
insubstantial air, Spikeâs 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 Xanderâs 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 thatâs
you sorted,” he remarked. “Fancy a beer?”
Xanderâs 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 donât you look sweet.”
Xander spluttered with rage and began to tug at the ropes.
“Now, now, Xander. Youâll hurt yourself, pet.”
“Can you go back to ‘Harrisâ? Iâd really prefer it.”
A flash of hurt passed over Spikeâs face. “So we still not on first
name terms then? Fine. Stay in the bloody chair. Iâll 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.”
“Maybe later.”
“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. Spikeâs feet slammed
down on the floor and he sprang at Xander, landing in his lap, game
face on, hands planted on either side of Xanderâs 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 donât call me names, got it? Not after youâve 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. “Iâm 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...”
“Itâd be the last thing you saw,” Xander hissed, pulling against the
ropes. “Because if she didnât stake you, I would.”
Spike pretended to look hurt. “Youâd kill a helpless demon trying to
turn over a new leaf? Not very honourable, is it? Besides -” he leaned
in close and kissed Xanderâs neck just where Xander guessed his fangs
would pierce, “donât tell me youâd stake me when you havenât even
fucked me yet? Bit of a waste.”
Images flashed through Xanderâs 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. “Anyoneâd think you didnât
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 shouldnât 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
youâll 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 Xanderâs body.
“Youâre hard again,” he observed flatly. Xander didnât 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 couldnât imagine
why heâd ever be anything else if that were the case. Besides, Spike
couldnât talk...
Spike sighed. “You think Iâm being unfair, getting off on making you
suffer.” Xander managed an ironic smile and Spike laughed. “True;
thatâs part of it, but itâs not the only reason youâre getting rope
burns.”
“Revenge?” Xander asked.
Spike shrugged. “Little bit, yeah. We both know thereâs no reason
youâve been tying me up except that you get a kick from it and itâs not
my favourite way of spending the night. Not when you just leave me
there, anyway.”
“So, Iâm sorry, okay? Wonât do it again. Now -”
Spike walked over to him and laid a finger across Xanderâs lips. “Shut
up. Youâre staying there until you tell me why you were wanking to the
tune of my name. Donât get me wrong - itâs perfectly understandable
because Iâm sexy and youâre desperate, but I want you to admit it.”
Xanderâs 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 Iâm thinking about you like
that? Then youâll 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 Spikeâs 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 itâs going everywhere.
All over my hand. Maybe I should wipe it off; do you mind if I use you?
No? And thereâs still a bit left... pity to waste it... So, talk me
through this, will you? I wouldnât 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 youâve
got the hang of it...”
“Good. Iâd 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 wasnât 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 Xanderâs mind and held it tight and safe.
Then Spikeâs 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 Spikeâs 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 Xanderâs 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?”
“No.”
“Let me rephrase that; do you want me to?”
“Yes.”
Spike leaned in and kissed him hard. “Going to make you scream...”
“Sort of hoped you would,” Xander whispered.
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