Spikeâs walking up to me, as I stand by the door, swagger set to
eleven, cheekbones honed. He looks so - oh, whatâs a word for Spike?
Irritating, aggravating, evil, despicable, back-stabbing,
untrustworthy... no, all of them describe him, but thereâs only one
that
sums him up.
Fuckable.
Itâs been a long time since Iâve looked at that face and only wanted to
hit it, fist against flesh. I still do - in daylight - but at night
when
I dream, Iâm not making him scream in pain and heâs not calling my name
begging me to stop.
Heâs close now, close enough to grab, close enough to kiss. Never going
to happen. If thereâs one thing as certain as the sunrise, itâs the way
he feels about me. Contempt would be an upgrade.
“Harris? I need you.”
My brain shuts down. Not just an expression; I really think, just for a
moment, the world went away. His words fit my thoughts so perfectly
that Iâm terrified I said them aloud and Iâm looking for somewhere to
hide.
“Earth to loser. Iâm talking to you.”
Ah. Back to normal. This I can deal with. The trading of the insults,
the giving of the digs. Better. Iâm good at this, I can deal.
“And what makes you think I want to listen to anything you have to say,
oh, peroxided one?”
Heâs leaning in close enough for me to count freckles now. As if Iâd
want to (three on his nose, one on his forehead, none of them very
visible even though heâs so pale. Guess he doesnât get out in the sun
much, heh).
“Look, itâs nothing bad, no matter what they tell you. Not going to
hurt me and it wonât do anything to you. Promise I wonât tell the
Slayer or Red you did it, if thatâs whatâs bugging you.”
“Tell... Buffy... tell... Willow?”
Iâm surprised he can understand my words. Even Iâm having trouble, Iâm
squeaking so high.
“Oh, for Christâs sake! Iâd go myself, but itâs broad daylight out
there. Iâll owe you, OK? Promise I wonât piss you off for a week at
least.”
“Oh? Going to stake yourself then? Because thatâs the only way you
could manage that.” Iâm starting to realise thereâs a failure to
communicate here and itâs a relief to be honest. Yes. It is. A relief.
He growls with frustration and the hairs on my neck rise in response.
Other parts of me donât because theyâve been as up as they can get
since I came into the basement and saw him. Iâve spent so long
wondering if he can tell... decided he canât, or he would have said
something. Spike miss a chance to put the boot in? Never! (Spike in
boots... nothing but boots, long pale legs and scuffed, black leather.
Maybe the coat too, draped back so itâs hiding nothing, displaying
every... no!) Though if heâs got eyes, and he has, blue eyes, blue like
the blue raspberry popsicles that turn your tongue and lips blue when
you suck them - did I just put Spike and suck in the same thought? Am I
insane? If heâs got eyes, he must see how hard I am...but why would he
be looking ... there? He wouldnât, right?
“Iâm asking you for a favour,” he says slowly. “Go and get me some
smokes and, look, Iâve even got the money. You can keep the change.”
I glance at the crumpled dollar bills heâs holding out to me and
estimate thatâll be about a quarter. I grab them, fighting back a
snarl, and turn to leave, feeling the weight of thwarted expectation
make every step drag.
“Harris.”
“What?” I donât turn; donât want him to see me, even fleetingly, in
silhouette. Iâm running an errand for him and God, even thatâs a thrill
in a sick way. Iâm so lost here.
“You better hurry.”
“Why?”
Iâm gritting my teeth hard enough to flake off enamel. One more snarky
comment from him and Iâll...
“Because when you get back, Iâm going to be lying on that excuse for a
bed of yours, naked. And if youâre not out of those clothes sixty
seconds after you come in, Iâll rip them off you. Be a pleasure,
believe me. And then Iâm going to make you pay for every time Iâve been
hard and you were the reason. Doubt youâll survive but youâll die
smiling, right?” Heâs still talking but I think he lost me at ‘nakedâ.
“- and then Iâll want to smoke. Thatâs traditional, yeah? Are you still
here?”
And Iâm hurrying, but not to the shops. If he thinks heâll have the
energy to smoke afterwards, heâs wrong.
Besides, by the time Iâve finished with him, itâll be dark and he can
get his own.
***
Spikeâs looking as if he tried to swallow a banana sideways, heâs
smiling so wide. Good practice for later, I suppose...yes, Iâm
boasting. Itâs expected, right? Heâs saying something but the image of
him naked on my bed is overloading every sense I have. Canât hear,
canât talk, canât...he starts to strip off his clothes and everything
rushes back, going from silent movie to Terminator 3 in a split second
and Iâm this close to falling on my knees and begging but I donât.
Score one for me.
I keep walking towards him, and Iâm telling him to hurry, and heâs
smiling, still smiling, his tongue lapping out, reminding me of cats
and cream, and again, good to see the dress rehearsal.
Iâm not taking anything off until heâs naked, not risking it. I can see
him waiting until Iâd gone past No Return Point and then skinning back
into his clothes at vampire speed, laughing all the way.
Then he kicks off those black jeans of his and I can see heâs not
joking. Canât fake some things and nine inches of hard,
thick...God, itâs tilting the same way he tilts his head, curving in a
shape that looks as if it was designed for a very specific purpose by
someone who knew what they were doing.
This time the urge to kneel is purely worshipful, but I send a mental
thank you to the God of Orgasms instead and start undressing.
My clothes go, donât ask me how, I wasnât looking. Iâve seen me before.
Spike naked...want to touch but then Iâd be too close to
look...decisions, decisions. I compromise by pointing to the bed and
saying, “Lie there,” in a voice that, yeah, sounds sort of scary.
He does just as I tell him and itâs enough to make my teeth dig into my
bottom lip hard enough to draw...oh, God I did. Iâm bleeding slightly
and his eyes just flared hot and if I thought he looked good before,
Iâm going to have to invent a new word now, because heâs leaning back,
one arm behind his head, the other wrapped around his cock, sliding
long fingers, loosely curled, up and down, mesmerising me.
“Want me to kiss that better?”
I crawl up the bed, knocking his hand away, grabbing it and pinning it
with the other above his head. I can feel the bones move as his fist
clenches then relaxes. “You donât get to touch it now,” I say. “My
turn. My toy.”
He arches beneath me, rubbing it against me and yeah, I compared them.
Itâs a guy thing, right? Iâm thicker. Heâs longer. Weâre both hard.
Does it need to get fancier than that? I donât think so. The rubbing is
like two cats saying hello, bumping and slithering past each other,
over and over. Iâm panting, my head goes back and Iâm jerking my hips,
once, twice, stopping with an effort and then doing it once more, just
because I can.
Heâs looking at my mouth, looking at the smudge of red, and heâs in
just the right place that I can dip my head and kiss him without
an effort. clever Spike. He deserves a reward. He eats my mouth,
delicate laps of his tongue against my lips, not a kiss, not ever,
getting faster, biting down - and I swear the fangs came out and he
forced them back. I want to feed him then, just in that moment, want to
offer him my throat, but chip or not, something saves me and I pull
back and slide down that body, licking and kissing and biting as I go,
making him moan and curse and say my name, over and over until itâs
echoing in my ears. Then heâs in my mouth, layered smooth hardness,
tasting of need, smelling of sex. I know that smell. Itâs been on my
hands too often not to recognise it now.
My teeth scrape him as I experiment, as I play, but I donât even bother
apologising. He likes it. His hands, released now, fist my hair until I
growl around his cock in a warning and he slackens his grip. I get him
to the point where one more bob of my head would have him keening with
release and I stop.
He looks down his body at me, wild eyes, free of any pretence for the
first time ever and I kneel up between his legs and look at him. His
eyes lock with mine and his hand goes out, yanking open a drawer,
pulling out lube and I make a mental note to punish him for knowing
where it is...and then let him off, as he drips it into his palm and
reaches for me. Cool wet slickness on my heat and the contrast makes me
hiss with pleasure verging on pain. He uses more and I watch him slide
his fingers deep inside his body, making it easy for me every way and I
shake my head, pulling his hand away, replacing his fingers with mine,
doing it fast, not letting myself think.
Then cock goes where fingers went and Iâm in deep and yeah, take that
every way you like, too.
His legs are spread and heâs pulling his knees back, helping me. I
canât return the favour, canât give his cock the touch he needs to send
him flying, because his mouth is open on a cry that pleasureâs robbed
of sound, and he looks so fucking hot right then that I come,
shuddering, screaming, every muscle hard, as I thrust again and again,
riding it out, and when I collapse against him, I drag my hand up, hold
him tightly and make him come, make him spill out across his stomach,
watching it as Iâve watched myself, seeing it spurt and already
thinking that next time heâs going to come in me.
And when I look at him, heâs smiling and his hand skims his stomach,
comes up wet and he tastes it thoughtfully and I know next time is
right now.
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