Lucid
Spike’d
had just about enough. Enough of the fighting, enough of the side-long looks,
the whispers that stopped when he started, the carefully planned out speeches
and jobs, all of it. He’d known coming to work for the new Watchers came
with risks—the headmaster had tried to manipulate his death, and that was
after the soul. It left a strain on working relations, that.
But this?
This was just. Too. Much.
“Fuck
off,” he snarled. Three pairs of arms crossed below varying sizes of breasts,
glaring with unmistakable disdain. Spike glared right back. “I said shove
the fuck off.”
“Spike,
he’s injured,” Rona said, as if he hadn’t carried the unconscious body the
last twenty minutes back to his flat, human blood staining his clothes. “Let
us take care of him.”
“You?”
The word was a bark of loathing. “I’ll say this for Buffy. Least she was
never reckless with her Watcher’s life. You know what he’s like!”
Long dreads
tossed over her shoulder, Rona did the most dead-on perfect impression of
Drusilla in a snit that he’d ever seen. It didn’t improve his mood one iota.
“He needs to go to a hospital,” she repeated.
“He hates
hospitals,” Willow reminded Rona, losing the gentle tone she’d used the past
four repetitions. “And really, it’s not that bad—right Spike?”
For Red,
Spike normally made allowances. This time Spike was too full of rage to care
who he was lashing out at, so long as he made something sting. “Won’t know
till you three get the fuck out of here, will I?”
“Spike—”
“No.
You don’t get to pull that card now, Willow, not when you blew him up.
Take the idiot Slayer child and your apprentice and get the hell out. I’ll
take care of him.” Not waiting for their response, Spike shifted to game-face
and snarled at Rona. He was fanatically careful in how he acted around
the new Slayers, so a blatantly aggressive move was more than just a normal
threat. She blanched and looked to Willow.
Willow
studied Spike for a long time. This wasn’t the same girl who’d left Sunnydale—either
time. The last few years in London had matured her into someone Spike barely
recognized and didn’t often want to. But she wasn’t why he stayed or didn’t
stay. So as long as their uneasy truce held—she didn’t turn on her friends,
he protected their backs—everything worked out. “Fine. We’ll be by to check
on him later,” Willow said, gathering both children and locking the apartment
door after her.
Finally.
Aiming another snarl at the wood, Spike knelt beside the prone body, turning
a head this way and that. “You look like hell,” he said ruefully.
“Thanks.
Wanna explain the whole Cave-vamp routine?”
“You’re
hurt.” Heading into the kitchen, he filled a bowl with hot water and another
with warm, soapy water. Both bowls and a few scraps of cut-up towel were
placed on the small end-table by the sofa.
“I have
a bump on the head and scratch down my arm.”
“You were
bleeding.”
Sighing,
Xander wormed his good arm free to touch Spike’s shoulder. “I won’t even
need stitches, Spike, it’s just a scratch. So what was with the ‘quick,
pretend you’ve passed out’ routine?” Xander’s British accent had not
improved, even after living in London for nearly five years. “And
blaming Willow. She didn’t blow me up, I moved too close when I knew not
to.”
“Because
your idiot Slayer was acting like a brat again. I thought you’d broken her
of that.” Off came the shirt, exposing a thin line down Xander’s left arm,
starting at the shoulder and ending a few inches above the elbow. It was
shallow, just needed some cleaning and a bandage and it’d be fine.
“So did
I,” Xander frowned, mind back on work again. Dammit. “I’ll have to talk
to her again, see if I can—”
“Oh, will
you just shut up!”
Spike
dipped and swiped in the silence that followed his outburst, totally ignoring
the eye that focused on him intently. Shouting like that was a brilliant
way of accomplishing what he wanted, of course. It’d instantly put Xander
in the right frame of mind, and help Spike ease through that transition himself.
Just because Spike wanted it didn’t mean the anger rolling around in
him would allow him to do it. But waiting up on that hill with the heather
whipping their ankles and the wind that smelled of a home he’d forgotten long
ago, the need for it had overwhelmed him. No more waiting and hoping, unwilling
to be the first to make a move.
And then
when Xander’d gotten hurt. . .
“Bleeding’s
stopped,” he murmured, blotting the towel over the cut to verify that. Bandaging
it to the silence on the bed, Spike then inspected Xander’s head and pronounced
him fine. Not even a concussion, just a bump some over-the-counter pain meds
could fix.
Then he
started undoing Xander’s pants.
“Um, Spike?
I’m not injured there.” Xander’s body remained lax on the sofa, however,
only moving when Spike positioned him or he decided to be helpful and lift
something. “What are you doing?”
“Did I
say you could talk? No. Shut the hell up.” Socks removed, Spike traced
the length of a dry, smooth sole. It twitched as he approached the ball of
Xander’s foot, but not enough to make Spike worry. “You don’t even notice
anymore, do you? So bloody tense your shoulders are damned near up to your
ears. Work, work, god damned work. Never go out with some mates anymore.
Never hook up with that bird from Chelsea, either. The one that perfumes
herself with banknotes? You don’t do anything anymore, just train,
train, and worry yourself to bits.”
Xander
just looked at him. “And that’s why I’m naked?”
“Shut
up,” Spike snarled, fingers closing around the base of a thankfully
already half-hard cock. He hadn’t realized how badly he wanted to see interest
there until he got it, something deep and twisted in his chest unknotting
in relief. He’d already planned out what he wanted to do, but the whole world
knew how bad his planning was. “Just ... let me.”
He hadn’t
meant for it to come out so pleading, but it did. And something shifted in
Xander’s eye, his shoulders finally untensing enough to rest more firmly against
he sofa-arm. “Okay.”
Permission
garnered, Spike lowered his mouth until his lips rested against the curve
of his own fingers, completely engulfing head and almost half of Xander’s
shaft in his mouth. Bobbing, stroking, licking, sucking, tasting skin that
was salty and sweet and made his mouth water, Spike worked to bring Xander
to full hardness. He wanted Xander to make a noise—a moan, a groan, even
a breathy exclamation. Something other than the slow, even breathing he heard.
Once Xander
was fully hard, precome just starting to bead at the tip, Spike raised off
him. He caught Xander’s raised eyebrows and shook his head. “No talking.
Less it’s sexy-talking. That you can do.”
Reaching
into his duster, Spike took out the little tube he’d put there weeks ago,
on the whisper of a hope he knew he’d never truly pursue. Well, he’d thought
he wouldn’t, since obviously he was. Slicking up his fingers till they nearly
dripped, Spike massaged Xander’s balls until his breathing finally
accelerated and then knelt on the sofa to help long, naked legs to raise into
the air.
“I’ve
never done this.”
Spike
glanced up to see none of the fear or disgust he’d imagined. Good. Laying
a kiss on the ankle near his head, Spike said, “I know. Now close your eye.”
A flash
of a pout turned into a smile. “But I like watching you.”
“Not this
time. Close it.” Spike waited for Xander to obey before stroking over the
perineum, fingers playing over soft skin as if it were a piano, different
pressure producing different responses. “The point isn’t to watch anymore,
Xander. This time it isn’t you who waits to catch ’em before they fall.
Now’s when you get watched. Now’s when you let go.”
Spike’s
fingers dipped lower and lower, finally circling around his final goal. He
watched Xander’s reaction closely, each blip of his heart, twitch and gasp
was catalogued and studied to determine if it was a good reaction or bad and
if he should repeat what he’d done. He wanted Xander gasping. Wanted him
sodden with sweat and trembling with need so that he couldn’t hunch
up anymore, his body lax and loose and as boneless as a child’s.
He didn’t
ask if Xander was ready, knowing that’d only shock Xander out of what he was
doing. Instead, Spike kept his touch light, almost massaging as he dipped
the tip of his finger inside, wiggling it to try and loosen muscles more tense
than any other. The plan was to stack up a long line of dominos then watch
them cascade down into the bliss Spike knew Xander had denied himself for
a long time. Years, probably. It wasn’t the hedonist in him that wanted
this, either, though it certainly enjoyed seeing Xander hard and naked beneath
him. His desire was more practical than he knew Xander would believe, and
therefore he wouldn’t mention it. Ever.
Adding
more lube, Spike finally worked the length of his pointer inside. Sliding
it in and out until the movements became easy, Spike started hunting for the
tiny nub. Xander jerked and gasped when it was finally found, head raising
with an expression that looked pained. “Ride it out,” Spike instructed, voice
low and quiet. “That’s right. It’ll fade, just relax a bit. Let it go.
You have to let things go, pet.”
The noise
Xander made was too close to a sob.
Easing
a second finger inside, Spike waited until the muscles around him loosened
before finding a rhythm that wasn’t fast, wasn’t slow, but was steady.
Relentless. “Know what this is called?” he asked. “Finger fucking. Oh,
I know you know what it is, experienced bloke like you. I know you rent good
porn, since I’ve watched most of it. But the feeling. . . You can’t stop
this. Can’t do anything but lay there, body open for me. Feeling good.
Letting someone else make you feel good.”
Another
sound like a sob and Xander brought his undamaged arm up to cover his eyes.
“Please,” he murmured.
“It’s
all right. Gonna help you now, and if you need later, you’ve only to ask.
Get you to sleep without nightmares, tonight. Every night, if I thought you’d
let me. Keep you happy and sated. No, don’t,” he said when Xander reached
for his cock. “Told you. You don’t do anything but lay there and feel.
I know how hard that is for you,” he said, perfectly serious. “But now you’re
gonna let me. Gonna let someone else help. Pick up the slack.”
Xander
was warm and fluttery around him, his breath hitching every time Spike touched
the good place inside. Cords ran along his neck, sweat beading along his
temple. It wasn’t quite the thrashing mess Spike wanted, but it was probably
as close as he was going to get on the first go. And this <i>wasn’t</I>
going to be the only time he did this. Now that he’d seen what Xander looked
like wanting, tasted him, heard him need so much. . . Spike was doing this
again. As often as Xander would let him.
“Wanna
come? Think you can?”
Xander
moaned again, his hips rolling against Spike’s hand. “Please. God, please.”
Spike
twisted in a move a human couldn’t reproduce, leaning down to lick Xander
from root to wet, salty head, teasing the slit there. Noises poured from
Xander’s mouth as his hips started jerking, rubbing his cock against Spike’s
lips and teeth before crying out. Spike opened his mouth, quickly covering
the head as Xander emptied out months of tension.
He was
beautiful, stretched out and debauched—and thoroughly asleep. Other circumstances
and Spike would be insulted at the reaction his hard work had created. Now
he could only be pleased. Licking his lips, he removed and cleaned his fingers
before gathering Xander’s body and carrying it into the bedroom. Tucking
him in, Spike leaned down and allowed himself a single concession—a gentle
touch of lips to lips.
Then he
left, back to the flat two floors above, content that for once, Xander would
sleep out the night. And if he didn’t, well, Spike would hear him. Like
always.