A Spot of Dreaming
There was not one sodding thing to do in Harris’ basement. Not even the telly. The concept of letting the vampire operate such complex technology as a vcr while Xander wasn’t home hadn’t gone over well, so out went the respectable collection of movies. The use of the regular set had been approved, but that was a bit of evilness on the boy’s part since it got three channels: news, kiddie programs, and a religious channel.
Spike had always been easily bored, but this? This was hell. Hours and hours of absolute hell, trapped in a basement that smelled worse than most graves did, too bored to even sleep.
Xander was asleep. Had fallen into bed at maybe four am after something Scooby related, too exhausted to even bicker a little. Spike had spent the next few hours staring at him, watching the dust motes dance around his body. Xander. Stupid, ordinary human that somehow got himself mixed up in the Slayer’s life. How he’d survived the last few years was a mystery to Spike and he managed to waste a few minutes thinking about that.
There was something about him, though. He wasn’t that bad looking, really, and sometimes he smelled so good. . . The daily ritual of checking Spike’s ropes afforded the vampire with an up-close and personal bouquet of sweaty human, annoyance, just enough fear to make it interesting—and arousal. Not a lot, mind, but every jerk of the ropes spiked it just a little bit higher.
Spike liked those times the best. The heady mixture of fear and arousal always made him hard, even when he was just remembering it.
In fact. . .
Spike let his eyes wander over the body spread out before him. Living with Xander had afforded him a lot of useless information about the human, but that was just fine. Sometimes what seemed totally useless was actually exactly what you needed. Smirking, Spike settled himself deeper into his chair, getting as comfortable as possible. Oh, yeah, he knew quite a bit about Xander now. More than enough to fuel this particular fantasy.
Traveling the world taught you fascinating things, especially if you were a vampire with an insane, psychic vampiress at your side. The memory of Drusilla hurt, but he forced himself past it. Remembered, instead, times when the physical thrill of the hunt was too dangerous. When a different way was needed. . . Spike had learned those lessons well.
“Can you feel it, Xander? There, under your skin.” His voice is low and husky, a throbbing whisper in the still air. “I know you can, Xander. It makes you hum, doesn’t it? Makes your mind sing and your body shiver.”
Drusilla hadn’t needed the words, the power of her eyes enough to start it. He had always liked the way they crawled through flesh and bone to lodge in the heart of his intended prey. How he was still stronger, even when using their weapons.
“Open your eyes, Xander. Look at me.” Liquid-black eyes gleamed in stray beams of sunlight, focused intently on Spike’s. “That’s good, Xander. Stand up, now. That’s good, very good. Fell asleep in your clothes, I see. Well, now, we can’t have that. Take them off, Xander.”
Deliberately, Spike avoided the path that would lead to the hot, sweet rush of blood in his mouth. This was about something he could have, if he wanted. Something that was starting to sound almost as good.
“Isn’t that a nice surprise? Hadn’t expected you to be so pretty underneath that crap you wear. Come closer to me. That’s right. You’re mine to play with, aren’t you? Can do anything I want and you’ll enjoy every second of it.”
Spike had picked up on the trick of it fairly early on, something that had baffled everyone—except Dru. She’d crooned to her blue-eyed boy, so proud that he’d done what Daddy and Grandmummy could not, never mind that the words sparked a furious rage in both vampires. Or that she’d paid for it more than Spike had. They thought it was like hypnosis, beguiling your victim with words and swaying grace.
It was much more basic than that.
“Now, then, what shall I do with a pretty treasure like you, hm? Such a big lad, too. I bet you’ll taste sweet when I finally take you—and I will take you, Xander. Will you come when I sink into you? Lasses usually do and some of the lads can’t help it. . . oh, that’s a nice thought. Save the rest for later and just make my stay here a little more comfortable, shall we?”
The name was the key. Knowing who your victim was. Playing on what was wanted and needed. Drusilla had tried over and over to put it into words, a methodology, something to please her irate and jealous Daddy. Spike had just known, the way she did. Could look at a person and just be there, in their head, the thrall so deeply embedded that it never truly went away.
“Such a pretty mouth you have. The babble, though, that has to go. Right annoying, that is.” Smirked, knowing that poor Xander, had he been aware enough to understand it, would have started squeaking by now. “I think I’ve got a better way to fill it, don’t I? Oh, yesss. You like that, don’t you, Xander? Want to open that pretty mouth of yours so wide for me? Feel me slip inside so deep?”
Once you found that one hint, the rest was so easy. Some prey, they wanted it. Oh, they still fought that first light touch, thrashing and bucking like claws were sinking into their skin. But they wanted it. And when they finally gave in. . . nothing was sweeter.
“That’s it, Xander. Nice an’ gentle while you undo me. Run your hands down, get me all out.” Hips lifted as jeans were pushed down to bunch around Spike’s knees. “There we are. I feel good, don’t I? You feel good. Got some callouses building, do we? Nice. Oh, yeah, always did love big hands. Stroke me nice, now, get me hard.”
Finding out what Xander wanted was simple. He’d known that the first time he’d met the boy, trembling in Angel’s grip. That delicious combination of fear, bravado, and unwilling arousal—ambrosia to hunters like himself and Dru. That heady mix sapped a man’s strength, hatred and confusion leaving him weak.
“In your mouth, now. Bloody—learned that from the demon-girl, did you? Always knew she’d give good head. That’s, oh—oh, yes, that’s good. Take a little more now, that’s it. Yeah, the whole head just like. . . yeah. More, now, want you to swallow me down. You want to do that, don’t you, Xander? Yeah, choke—no, don’t pull back! Just hold it there. Fuck! Your throat is so—! Okay, okay, pull up, don’t want you passin’ out on me. But, oh, yeah do that. So good, Xander. Not—not killing you, yet. Oh, yeah, that’s good. . .”
There was a limit to how much you could ask someone under thrall. Push them too far and their brains turned to mush. Convincing someone to hold still while you rip their throat open is far different then asking them to kill their own family, for instance, and usually ended badly. It was possible for humans to break out of the thrall. . . which was what made it fun. Finding that point and then not crossing it.
“All right, now, Xander, that’s enough. I said, that’s—! Well, now, isn’t that fascinating. You want that, don’t you? You want to taste me. You’ve been wanting that for a while, haven’t you? Do you dream about it, Xander? Do you dream of something just like this? You naked and pleasing me, while I’m half-clothed and tied to this chair? Do you wank off to it? You know I can’t hurt you, now, not with this chip in my head. Can’t cause you the slightest bit of pain. . . Yet here you are with my dick in your mouth. And you want it, Xander. You’ve always wanted it, haven’t you.
“Oh, yeah, got plans for you, now. Gonna give you every bit of Spike, tonight. Oooh, like that, do we? Lovely cock on you and so nice an’ hard. I’d play with it, but, well, ropes. And that just makes it more fun, doesn’t it? I’m trapped here, Xander. Can’t make you do a sodding thing. Oh, nice jump. Can see why the demon-girl keeps you.
“Slick? Well, aren’t we enterprising. Such a dirty little slut. Gonna take me inside you, Xander? Gonna ride me till I fill you up? I’m so hard for you, pet, see how hard I am? You did that. You. . .that’s it, stretch it nice and gentle. Turn around, let me see. Very pretty, pet. Another finger now, yeah, that’s it. Wiggle ’em about till you—that’s what I wanted to hear. I wanna hear you, Xander. Moan for me. Yeah, just like that.
“Are you leaking, Xander? You shiny and wet for me? Let me see, turn around. Let me see your cock, Xander. You want me to play with it, don’t you? But not yet, not now. Don’t touch it, Xander, not once. Understand? Nod—that’s right. You don’t touch it. That’s mine, now. Christ, I’m so hard. . . are you ready? Good, straddle me just like that. Use the—the arms, yeah. So warm, pet, you’re so fucking warm. Like a bloody inferno on my lap.
“Slow, easy now. Guide me in. . . yeah, good. Oh, fuck you’re tight. Wanna ram into you. Bet you’d love that, too, just plow right—fuck!—right into you. Fuck you into the sodding mattress, I would, till you’re bloody and screaming on the end of my cock. Yeah, you’d love that. You want that. Can’t do it, though, so you’re gonna—oh, fuck me!
“When you—you’re ready. Don’t want a headache, now. Fuckin’ Initiative. So tight, Xander, you’re so. . .hot, dammit, you need to—that’s right, just rock. Oh, yeah, whimper like that. Hurts, don’t it? Yeah, I’m hurting you, now. You like that, too. An’ so long as you’re moving, I don’t have the blinding headache and the—yeah. A little more, now, start to bounce and ohhhhhhh, yeah. Hope you’re—damn—strong, Xander, cause I’m not letting you—ah!—stop. No, don’t stop! Bloody hell!
“There, good, yeah. Lean a bit forward, wait, no, back. Brace up, now. Harder. Move—there! Perfect! Feels good, don’t it? Poufter. Love a big cock up your ass, do you? Such a fuckin’ poufter, you are. And you love it. That’s it, moan for me. God, you sound so good. You know just how to whimper. Squeeze down, now. . . so. Fucking. Good. Yeah, you love it too, don’t you, Xander? The way I stretch you open? The way I slide inside you. And there, that tiny bit that makes you—fuck! Oh, hell, faster. Faster, good. Faster . . . fuck, you’re like that bloody pink bunny. . . not that. . . not that I’m complainin’ mind. Christ, you’re a virgin? So, damned. . .good. So damned good.
“FUCK! Oh, hell, yeah! That’s. . . that’s. . . oh, yeah. Mm. Hey, s’cold, where'd you g—oh, tongue. That’s nice, Xander. Clean me up, now. Mmm, getting good at head. Gonna have lots of practice—stomach? What’s on—ahhh. Did you come, Xander? When was it? When I did? Christ, you’re the perfect bitch. Don’t even have to train you, you already know just how to. . . yeah, love, that’s brilliant. Bloody brilliant. Yeah. . . turnin’ you. Definitely turning you. . .”
Spike wasn’t aware of when he drifted off to sleep, only that he woke to find Xander glaring at him. “I thought we talked about the no-talking-in-your-sleep thing,” the boy demanded. “Because you sounded like you were. . . dying.”
Blinking away mid-afternoon fuzz—hell, what time was it?—Spike tried to understand what was happening. He’d been sitting in the chair, trying to find something to do. He remembered looking at Xander and. . . oh, bloody hell. Trying very hard not to look at the giant stain, Spike blustered, “Oh, piss off. Like you’ve never had a nightmare before!”
Xander tried to raise one eyebrow, but the other went up half-way despite his efforts. It made him look like a moron—not that it was a huge stretch. “A nightmare? Don’t nightmares usually mean bad, scary things?”
William the Bloody wasn’t scared of anything, dammit. Insolent brat needed some lessons—and oh, the lessons Spike could give him. Grinning, he focused his attention on Xander’s mouth; it really was a mouth for cocksucking. “Thought you said I sounded like I was buyin’ it?” he asked. “Not that I can, ’cos, vampire.”
“Hey, I’ve got stakes here, buster.” But the boy’s focus wasn’t on his words. In fact, his eyes were sliding down Spike’s body. “No, you sounded—weird. Like you were. . .” The eyes stopped moving and grew huge. “Oh, gross! You’re disgusting!”
“What! Like you’ve never done it!”
“Not since I was fifteen!”
Spike raised an eyebrow—just one—and tilted his head. “Uh huh. So the lovely aroma in the air right this instant is—”
Oh. Well, then.
While Xander blushed and scrambled toward his bathroom, Spike wished he could fold his hands behind his head. Captivity stank, no two-ways about that.
But there were always ways to make it more interesting.