He’d almost forgotten what it was like, stalking prey. He was never one for artistry the way his teachers had been—too much effort for not that much reward. But all things were relative, and now it was all about the effort. The slow, gradual touches. The random events carefully orchestrated to drive his prey towards the intended goal. This wasn’t a quick smash and grab, oh no. This wasn’t all about ‘the moment’, a burst of heat and light and spine-tingling pleasure that melded into a string of those moments, the in-between times fading with the casualness of an unthinking creature.
Spike liked to think he’d have reached this place regardless. He was the favored hunting partner of Angelus—well, were Angelus not trapped and fractured under the weight of the soul—and that meant he’d obviously had a secret love for this kind of game, despite his preference for the quicker, brasher, louder forms he’d perfected. Which he’d go back in an instant, if it weren’t for the buggering chip. Not that the chase wasn’t entertaining—but he’d made a conscious choice when Angelus disappeared and Darla abandoned them as being worthless: away went everything his elders had taught him, scorning it the way they’d scorned him. Sheer habit made him uncomfortable with what he was doing.
But it did have its own particular pleasures.
Boredom was a primary factor in the chipped life. Spike hated being bored. The telly was passingly amusing in a mindless kind of way, the same as Harmony when she wanted a bit of rough. Annoying the Slayer was always a good time had by all, but she was starting to lose patience with him. His nose wasn’t pleased with the constant attention she paid to it, so a new plaything was needed.
Spike had thought long and hard on what he wanted to do. He could go after the witch, of course. She’d make a tasty little treat, no question, and he knew that she was attracted to him, ‘gay now’ protestations aside. Vampires had better noses then the keenest of blood-hounds and Spike prided himself on having an affinity for finding that particular scent. Well, he was so often the cause of it. . .
But oh, she’d break like pretty china under his hand. Creeping vines working under that glossy patina of her desire to help, to be good, to always do the right thing, pleasing everyone but herself. Oh, Spike could make such merry mayhem with her by his side. The darkness in all the Slayer’s friends—and the Slayer herself—fascinated Spike and he’d planned out just how he’d break and remake each one of those California-touched teenagers. Even the witch’s new girl, with her shield of wispy strands of hair and the dark eyes that could be more cruel and seductive then Dru’s ever were.
But in the end, it came down to the two Spike had known it would. The chance to corrupt the Slayer’s golden goodness was strong, but Spike wasn’t interested in being the weaker in this game. Oh, no. Spike would be the hunter again, his prey properly submissive by the time Spike took his reward. And then. . . well, if Spike did this right, the possibilities were endless.
* * * * * *
Spike kept close during patrols. If they split up, he’d always grumble loudly about being paired with Xander, again, usually ensuring that the status quo would remain unchanged. Xander hated it, regularly complaining to Buffy that just because he was the only significant other-less person in the group, why did he have to babysit the Fangless Wonder?
“Xander, it’s not because you aren’t dating anyone,” Willow said. “It’s just, you know, it makes the most sense. We paired you with him before Anya left, too!” She immediately flushed guiltily at that faux paus, making sad eyes at Xander, her time-worn manner of oops, I’m just a little girl, please don’t be mad at me, you big strong man-thing you.
Xander wasn’t having any of it, this night. “Thanks. Remind me of how useless I am and oh, hey, lets throw on some sexual humiliation on top of it!” Fuming, Xander hurled something away from him in a useless display of testosterone. Anya had left in a nuclear explosion of insults, the fall-out leaving Xander jittery and sensitive. “Come on, Will. It’s your turn to tell me that I’m a bad friend, that I never treat you right, and that I don’t accept being used and abused with a proper, manly meekness! So sorry I have a problem with being your punching bag and pooper-scooper, all in fucking one.”
The girls watched Xander disappear into his sector of the cemetery in stunned silence. “Pooper-scooper?” Willow asked faintly.
Buffy shrugged. She was less concerned with Xander’s fragile ego—and with proper nudging, could distract Willow and Tara into forgetting emergency cookies or trips to the cinema. “Xander’s still just wigged about Anya. He’ll get over it.”
Looking doubtful, Tara took a few steps forward. “M-maybe one of us should go with him? He sounded really upset, this time.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s gonna strike fear in the heart of vamps everywhere.” Spike actually liked Tara, but she was the most persistent in Xander-comforting—except in the face of insults. “Glinda the good witch who’s too timid to call up her mojo, and the Scarecrow. You’d be dead in ten minutes.”
Tara flushed and Willow clasped her hand, glaring angrily at Spike. “Well, then, you’d better go after him and make sure he doesn’t get hurt,” she ordered. She’d been getting snappy with those as Buffy focused more and more on the tall stalk of corn she was currently waiting for. “Tara, honey, don’t listen to Spike. He’s a poop-head.”
“And you’re a shining example of a grown woman,” he snarled back. “What with that advance vocabulary and all.” And confirming the boy’s complaint from before, though Spike doubted Willow would put two and two together. She was a frighteningly smart little thing, but still remarkably dense, sometimes. Useful.
When Willow opened her mouth to retort, Buffy slashed her hand through the air. “Spike! Stop pretending you’re bothering us and go make sure Xander’s okay!” So decided, the Slayer immediately started wondering where her boyfriend was and Willow predictably rushed to comfort her.
God bless selfish teenagers, Spike thought. He knew Xander wasn’t in any trouble—boy was cussing a blue streak as he wandered through the graveyard. He wasn’t patrolling so much as hanging a giant ‘good eats’ sign over his neck, but Spike knew nothing would go near him.
He’d made sure of that.
Xander’s reputation as a demon-magnet wasn’t unfounded, but Spike’s judicious application of his fists to various parts of various demon’s anatomy had convinced them to try after Spike was done with him. Which won’t be soon, oh no. We’re in this for the long haul, aren’t we, Xander? You just don’t know it yet.
Leaving the girls to bemoan men who could never be on time, and wasn’t the military, like, supposed to punish lateness, Spike headed after his prey. Xander slowed down when Spike approached, waiting for him. He had to hide a smirk as Xander started ranting at him; habit was such a useful training tool. And Spike had worked damned hard for certain things to become habit. Like the way Xander walked close to Spike, shoulders occasionally brushing. And the way, if Spike paused at some noise, Xander always moved slightly behind Spike, waiting for his all-clear to start moving again. They’d done this a hundred times and more, Spike carefully mixing insults and praise until Xander didn’t think about it anymore. Spike was considered Xander’s protector, whether or not Xander was conscious of that knowledge. Of course, he’d had to bully a bunch of lesser demons to encourage the belief, but that had been a lot of fun—both the forcing and the protecting.
“And is there anything in particular that we’re looking for tonight? Because no one tells me anything. It’s just ‘Xander, make sure you show up at the cemetery after work, today’. You know, the work I was fired from two days ago, that no one seems to remember me talking about. I think I miss my head on a plate guy. The creepy eyeball hanging out isn’t a good look, but at least he heard me when I said something. But now it’s just ‘don’t worry, Xander, Anya didn’t mean it’. I think when she announced that infants had bigger dicks to an entire restuarant she kinda meant it. And that’s another thing—do you know how many people were at that restaurant? This is a small town. Word travels fast. So now I’m known far and wide as Xander, the Tiny Dick. Thanks, Anya. Way to make getting on with my life even possible without moving out of Sunnydale. If it hasn’t managed to hit other towns, too.”
Spike let the boy get it out of his system—he’d be too consumed with it, otherwise. And Spike had to admit, Anya’s breakup had been particularly humiliating. It almost made Dru’s cuckolding look classy in comparison. He murmured and commented in all the right places while Xander spoke, focused mainly on making sure they touched every other step—shoulder and arm and as Xander started to wind down, fingers. That was tricky. The first time he’d done it, weeks ago now, Xander had jumped like he’d stepped on a live-wire, glaring at Spike and tossing off some quip about no lookee, no touchee. But now Xander didn’t seem to mind when their knuckles skimmed against each other, or the way Spike’s thumb-ring would sometimes brush against the palm of his hand. It was normal. Natural. Expected.
“So?” Xander was breathing evenly now, anger fully purged. “What’s the ooged-boogedy for tonight?”
“Nest of something rat-like. They’re munching on the summer tourists, after pickin’ ’em dry. I said we should just let them alone—a tourists natural predator, that—but Buffy’s got to make the world safe for pasty New Englanders hunting for wine country in the wrong part of the bloody state.”
“Actually, there is a winery near here. It’s okay if you want to clean something or enjoy drinking vinegar.” Xander grinned at him, his fingers momentarily curling around Spike’s. Such a good, malleable boy he was. “So, rat-like demons who target tourists. How do they know their targets are tourists?”
Spike raised his eyebrow, waiting for the amused laugh that was now reserved only for him. It rolled out right on schedule, warm and inclusive and appreciative.
“Yeah, okay, the mu-mu’s and the fanny packs pretty much give it away.”
“See? Knew you could figure it out on your own.” Rewarding the boy with a stroke along the back of his hand, Spike scanned the area around them. These demons were more serious then he was implying, and their newness meant Spike could get a nice fight in. It was one of the downsides of patrolling with Xander—it was getting harder and harder to find demons ballsy enough to take them on. “Here, why don’t you wait a moment. Hawaiian shirts look touristy to me.”
“Huh? Oh, right.” Xander immediately stripped out of his brightly colored monstrosity—pineapples and palm trees on yellow, dear god—stuffing it awkwardly into his jeans pocket. “Okay, so it’s not exactly hidden, but that’ll help, right?”
Spike smiled. It wasn’t a very nice smile, but. . . Xander, in nothing but a pair of jeans and a beat up undershirt that’s a bit on the small side? That’ll help lots, duckling. Help remind me why wearing the duster year-round is a good thing. “Much better. Look like a proper townie, now.”
Xander made a face, but the smile continued to lurk around his eyes. Banter between them had lost the angry edge months ago and was more of an art, now. “So I wait here?”
“Yeah, that sounds—erk!”
Spike’d wondered why Rupert was arming them with axes when describing this brand new menace. Shouldn’t they have rat-traps or something more appropriate? Little baggies of poisoned rat-treats? Rupert had done his long-suffering imitation of one of those Nike commercials—or was ‘just do it’ Reebok?—and since the Slayer was whining enough on her own, Spike had let it go. Now he understood.
“He might’ve—bugger!—mentioned that these were four fucking feet high rat-things!” he complained. Chittering mouths with long teeth, flat, dark eyes, bug-infested fur, and a tail as opposable as their paws, the demons were more of a fight then Spike had expected. Not dangerously so, since there were only five of the things, but it did mean that Xander needed to help to. Spike didn’t like that at all.
He’d managed to hack two of the things to death when he smelled it. Blood. Xander’s blood. A few seconds later he heard Xander start cursing. “These were my last pair of good jeans you—you—rat!”
Snickering, Spike dispatched the third in time to see Xander try and skewer his opponent with a sword. Where he’d gotten a sword Spike had no clue, but he clearly had no idea how to use it. The demon knocked it out of his hands after the first clumsy stabbing, and clawed Xander’s arm when the boy scrambled around to pick the blade back up. Snarling at the increased smell of blood, Spike leaped over to his side, taking care of both remaining demons with a mighty heave of his ax. Well, he took care of the fourth. The fifth Xander managed to stab a few times and would’ve died pretty soon. But it looked pretty heroic and rescue-y.
“Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit!”
“Hush. Lemme look at it.” Manhandling Xander over to a convenient headstone, Spike lifted his leg with gentle hands. The jeans were a lost cause and Spike didn’t like the look of the dark flecks around the edges of the wound, but otherwise it wasn’t bad. The cut itself was actually pretty shallow. Xander protested when he lifted the leg higher, balancing it on his bent knee. “I said hush, now,” Spike reprimanded in a soft, soothing voice. Come on, now, Xander. Just listen to me like a good boy and I promise I’ll make it all better for you. “S’not so bad, just a bit of a cut.” He probed the edges, pleased when Xander inhaled sharply but otherwise remained calm. “Think you can walk on it, pet? Hmm?” Xander eased onto his feet, nodding—but he didn’t object when Spike wrapped an arm around his waist, either. “Now the arm.”
The same black stuff clung to that wound, which was also on the shallow side. “I don’t think they were very clean,” Xander said woefully, looking down at his arm.
“Then we’ll clean you up, pet. I’ve got some stuff back at my crypt, come on. Lean on me if the leg hurts, I’ve got you.” He kept up a steady stream of reassurances as they walked. It was tricky, balancing the low, soothing voice without it sounding too condescending and forcing Xander to get offended. But Xander didn’t get offended, leaning against his side with a trust Spike had spent the entire summer expressly focused on building. “That’s right. Just let me take care of it.”
“I should go home,” Xander protested when the crypt was in view. “I mean, I’ve got stuff. . .”
“Got the same stuff too, and look, it’s right over there. Come on. My couch is comfier then yours, anyway.” Spike loved college kids. Spent a fortune on crap they couldn’t keep at the end of term and then usually junked it rather than trying to sell it off. Spike had managed to furnish a great deal of his crypt—including said comfy couch and a gigantic bed—by trolling the campus dump.
Spike affected an annoyed expression. “What, not good enough to put a bandage on you?”
“No! I mean, I just—” Xander floundered for a way to explain his reluctance, the combination of the pain of his injuries and Spike’s daze-inducing monologue leaving him blinking and slow. “I should go home, or—or find Buffy. . .”
“Why? Demons are already dead, pet. And we’re already here, ducks, just a few more steps. Then I’ll fix you up, quick as a blink. Come on. . .”
Inside the crypt, Spike was careful never to leave Xander’s side for too long or be silent when he had to. This was the most perfect opportunity he’d had in weeks, and Xander was as prepared as he was going to be and—And I’m not that patient a vampire, dammit. Been enjoyin’ this set up, sure, but I want some kind of pay-off and I want it bloody now. Decided, Spike removed the boy’s shoes, socks, and pants before tugging him practically in his lap while he cleaned the wounds.
The black stuff—dirt, probably, though it smelled funny—came off cleanly. Satisfied Xander wasn’t going to get gangrene or anything, he picked up the numbing cream he’d nicked and worked some of that in before bandaging the wounds. It wouldn’t stop the pain totally, but it would let it settle in the back of Xander’s mind, which Spike needed if he was going to pull this off.
“See? All that yammering for nothing,” he teased, voice pitched low. “Should’ve just let me take care of you without a fuss.” Xander’s legs were over his lap, body slightly twisted so Spike could take care of the arm at the same time. His eyes were half-closed from the loss of adrenaline and Spike’s continuous speaking, and he smiled a little when Spike started stroking his side. It was sooner than Spike usually started the touching part of their movie or post-patrol nights, but Xander’s silent acceptance told him he wasn’t moving too fast. Good. Rubbing over that warm, solid muscle pleased Spike as much as it did Xander—and not just because it meant the boy stayed pliant and calm. “Tired?”
“Sorta.” Xander’s eyes opened and turned towards the tv. “Wanna watch a movie?”
“Sure.” Spike rose and found the disc he’d been planning on using, popping it into the dvd player he’d nicked. He’d actually paid money for the dvd—had to order it special, which meant finding the cash to send the company. “Mind if I take m’boots off?” he asked casually, fiddling with the player. “Since you’re practically naked already, s’only fair.”
That woke Xander up a tiny bit—but only a tiny bit, Spike noted with pleasure. Hanging around with Spike post-patrol was something Spike had encouraged gradually, reminding Xander that the girls shouldn’t know they were being so friendly out of sight—they both had reputations to maintain. Xander had agreed faster then Spike’s ego liked, but he didn’t want the Slayer to know that Spike was stalking one of her friends—she was so bloody tenacious. Reminded him of himself.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got clothes I could borrow?” Xander looked over at his blood-stained and torn jeans. “Cause these are wasted.”
“Don’t think your great hammy legs are going to fit into my clothes, pet. Don’t worry about it. You’ve got boxers, that’s something at least, and I’ll lend you my duster when we walk home, all right?” Assuming that meant acceptance, Spike removed his boots and socks and quickly unbuttoned the top button of his jeans while his back was turned. “You’re not cold or anything now, are you?”
“Nah. So what’re we watching?”
Spike sat down, very pleased when Xander immediately put his legs back in Spike’s lap, ass pressed up against his thigh. “Greedy,” he teased. “You’re like a floppy-haired cat. And it’s a surprise, just watch.”
This was a special movie, one Spike had searched for as soon as he knew that it was Xander he was going to target. One that started out like a typical action flick, with maybe a touch more character interaction then was strictly necessary. One that looked high quality, A-list material, if full of unknown actors. Xander watched attentively, unconcerned when Spike started touching him again. Not unnoticing—he would murmur in appreciation or dismay, depending on what Spike was doing, and he did freeze in surprise when Spike moved his fingers to the crease between hip and thigh, perilously close to Xander’s cock—but calmly accepting and enjoying the attention. Letting Spike touch him wherever Spike wanted, like the good little prey Spike knew he was.
When the two main characters started kissing, no cheesy porno music to make it silly, just two hot guys directed by a man who knew how porn should look, Xander went very still. He continued watching and Spike continued touching him. When the kissing turned into groping on the television, Xander made a wet noise in his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing—and he started getting hard.
That’s right, pet. Follow the nice trail of bread crumbs; I’ve got a pressie for you waiting at the end.
“This isn’t a problem, is it?” Spike’s voice was barely audible over the sounds coming from the tv. He kept stroking along the edge of Xander’s groin, never too close, but definitely encouraging the ever-hardening erection. “Just thought maybe we both needed a bit of fun.”
Shirts were removed, large, blunt-nailed fingers roaming over two well-toned bodies. Not hairy, something Spike had considered carefully. Xander had a nice bit between his pecs, he knew, but Spike himself was smooth, so he’d shunned the selection of thick, burly, men with entire forests growing on their chests. Instead, these two were thin and lithe looking—perfect. Xander’s breathing picked up.
Spike moved his hand fractionally closer.
“Sure?” he asked again. In actuality, he didn’t care at all whether Xander was ready for this or not. But he had to appear to, didn’t he? Still Xander’s protector, caring for him during the fight and after. “Don’t want to force you or anything.”
Xander shook his head, eyes glued to the screen. That’s it, pet. Watch them do everything I’m going to do to you. And more, what you’re going to do to me. Remember all the movies I’ve shown you, working you up to this. All the erections you’ve hidden, all the uncomfortable posturing you tried to protect yourself with till I finally got you to understand you didn’t have to. That’s right, get nice and hard for me. Gonna make you my pretty little toy, pet. And soon.
“No,” Xander said distantly. It took Spike a minute to remember what he’d asked him; watching him in the flickering blue light, a soundtrack of moaning not hiding the way Xander was starting to pant and the way he smelled. . . much more interesting then waiting for an answer. “No, it’s okay.”
“Good. That’s good, pet.” Spike started touching Xander a little more firmly, still staying away from truly ‘erotic’ areas. For a little longer, anyway. “I like watching this too, you know. It makes me feel good.” He thought about shoving his erection into Xander’s leg for proof, then vetoed it. Instead, he moved just a touch closer, feeling Xander’s heat radiating through the thin, tented cotton. On screen, the men were now naked and one was pushing the other down his body to his cock. “Does it make you feel good?”
“Uh huh.” Xander looked like he was in a trance which, if Spike had done everything correctly, he almost was. Not quite thrall, not quite a true hypnotic trance, this was just a calm, responsive state of mind. He’d gotten Xander here a few times previously, always so slowly, so carefully, usually letting him sleep it out after reminding Xander how much he trusted Spike, and how much he liked him.
Not this time.
“I’m glad it does, pet. I like that. Just keep watching them. Picked this movie out for you special, pet. So you just keep watching it. That’s right.” Wondering if he was going to earn a sock to the jaw, Spike slid his hand over the last few millimeters and actually touched Xander’s cock. The boy made another wet noise in his throat, but otherwise didn’t react. Oh, yeah.
Spike spread his legs a little wider. On screen the red head was blowing his companion, the camera work not so focused on the cock as it disappeared into the guy’s mouth that you couldn’t see their faces. That was key for Spike’s plans, since he needed Xander to see them enjoying themselves. No bored porn stars here. Spike particularly liked the way they let the viewer see the cocksucker fist his own cock—how hot and needy it was, little groans escaping from his mouth.
Spike stroked Xander’s cock as they watched, rubbing it with his fingers and his palm, even touching the wet head that peaked out from underneath the elastic around Xander’s waist. And all the while Spike told him how lovely this was. How lovely he was.
Xander’s heartbeat was pounding in his chest, his breath wet and loud. He whimpered when the actor getting sucked grabbed his partner’s head, fucking into the wide open mouth. Oh, yeah, Spike thought, very pleased at the way Xander’s cock jumped in response. Thought you’d like that, pet. “He loves it,” Spike said. Whispered, more like, since his voice was just a soft undercurrent of air. “See the way he’s fisting himself, pet? He loves it when he’s fucked like that, just held still and taken.”
Xander was starting to hyperventilate now, cock throbbing under his touch. Wanna come, don’t you? he wanted to ask aloud. Want to beg me to let you get off, to touch you harder, squeeze your pretty cock in my hand or shove mine down your throat. Oh, yeah, you want it bad, pet. Gonna have you gagging for it.
But Spike didn’t do anything but continue his light, tormenting touches. He’d already watched the film several times and knew just how far he could go before the harsh, gutteral grunt of a man coming down another’s throat filled the air—
And the scene cut out.
Xander cried out, body jerking and shuddering in the sudden silence. Spike pressed the heel of his hand on the base of Xander’s cock, holding it there until the tremors stopped and his heart started to slow down. “Easy,” he murmured. “It’s okay.” He’d timed it just right, he noted with pleasure, preventing Xander’s orgasm at the final second. Discreetly, he froze the dark screen, wanting the boy to have a moment to recover. Such slow, tiny little steps Spike was leading him on. . .
“Sorry,” Xander said eventually. His body rolled, as if trying to move away. Spike caught him, holding him still while Xander tried to say whatever humiliated apologies his mind was producing.
“What’s to be sorry for?” Spike asked when Xander finally stopped trying. He was stroking again, tugging Xander more fully onto his lap and rubbing his thighs and belly, scratching lightly between his pecs. Petting him like a puppy—and invoking a carefully placed trigger at the same time. These touches meant relax. That everything was safe. That Spike wasn’t upset, wasn’t mocking him, and that it was okay to let go of whatever it was that had Xander so fashed. “Glad you like my movie, pet. Do you want to see more of it? Is that all right?”
Xander was flat on his back now, eyes dark as he looked up into Spike’s face. “Yeah. I—I like it,” he whispered quietly, but he didn’t turn away. Not until Spike reached up and nudged his jaw, turning his head to the right.
“That’s good, pet,” Spike said with that same breathy, barely-there voice. “Just watch for me now. Such a good boy.”
When the movie resumed, it was as if the sex-scene hadn’t even happened. Spike studiously avoided the still hard cock, starting a deeper version of the previous massage. This time he pressed his fingers down until he felt Xander’s muscles twitch and release, sending him deeper into the almost-trance, relaxing him and making him feel very good. Spike knew he was a tactile creature—touching, being touched, so long as there was some kind of give and take, he was a happy vampire. And the boy could be persuaded to give lovely massages, if Spike played it right.
But that was for later, when Spike planned to have Xander massage something else. Ignoring the movie, Spike twisted so that Xander’s legs spilled around his waist, ass balanced on his crossed legs. It made glancing at the tv a strain, but the benefit of watching Xander made up for it. “Can I take these off, pet?” he asked diffidently, toying with the material covering Xander’s groin. “Let me, pet, do. Give you a nice rub-down while you watch.” Xander mumbled something Spike took as acquiescence, lifting his legs when Spike asked, then letting Spike place them where he wanted.
He was beautiful. And mine, all mine. Not a single protest as he was stripped, his t-shirt pushed up to expose taut nipples, and Spike knew he’d won. For a boy as self-conscious as Xander to allow himself to be stripped while Spike was still clothed—Mine. You’re mine now, Xander. And I’m not letting you go. That thick cock Spike’d been stroking was hard and red, laying flat against a golden belly. His skin was flushed and just starting to dot with sweat, eyes half-closed as his mind tried to pay attention to the movie and enjoy the feel of Spike’s strong hands massaging away his ability to think. “Just watch,” Spike instructed when Xander turned back at one point. “Keep watching. Seen it before, already. But you just keep watching.”
By the time the sex started back up on screen, Spike had just finished working out a largish knot in the top of Xander’s thigh, leaving him limp and gooey and nearly asleep. But not totally asleep—his heart-rate picked up the moment the two characters were obviously back in their home. Spike turned to watch; this was a good scene.
The one who’d gotten sucked off before pushed his partner against the wall as they entered, reaching an arm around to roughly paw the red-head’s crotch. “Are you still hard?” he growled. “You better be.”
The redheaded gasped and nodded, mumbling some kind of affirmative while his body rocked into the almost abrasive touch.
Xander’s heartbeat started pounding, his cock twitching again as the redhead stripped to expose his hard cock—and the other did not. Naked, the redhead began a number of chores, conversing normally with his partner while his cock was occasionally tugged and fondled the way a man might pet a particularly beloved dog. The redhead never commented on the touches, though his body always instantly paused to accept the almost condescending caress, unmoving until he was released.
Spike had watched this scene alone over ten times. It was a bloody hot scene, but he wanted to be sure he could mimic each and every pull, each glancing touch simultaneously, easing Xander more fully into the role Spike wanted. That’s you, pet. Gonna let me touch you whenever I want. Keep you hard and wanting until while I take my fill of you. And you’re going to love it, just like this one does.
On screen, the redhead cleaned up their dinner then settled into his partner’s lap for a long, lingering kiss. “Think you deserve being fucked tonight?” he was asked between kisses. “Have you been good enough to feel my cock inside you?”
The redhead moaned, shaking his head. He was rocking back and forth, cock pressed against his partner’s with chest back far enough that the camera could see the two erections rubbing and slipping against each other. Spike wished he could open his jeans and tug Xander those few inches closer and mimic this part of the scene, but didn’t. Not yet. Not until those eyes went totally glazed and empty, waiting to be filled with whatever Spike put there.
“Well,” his partner said consideringly. “You may not deserve it, boy, but I want to fuck. Go get ready.”
The scene cut away then, drawing out the suspense. Spike took the time to shift Xander more onto his side. “Just gonna rub your back, pet,” he soothed when Xander made a noise. “That’s all right, isn’t it?” He stroked the muscles around the base of his spine, easing Xander back into quiet compliance. Then he began moving his hand lower with the other curled around his cock, not stroking, just holding. A reminder. Gonna dress you up in steel and leather, pet. Gonna play with my pretty toy soon enough.
Given how nicely Xander was responding so far, Spike was hopeful he could move his plans up. Who needed two or three months of seduction when Xander was warm, horny putty in his hands? The boy didn’t even object when Spike pressed a finger against his opening and started rubbing. Spike rubbed him front and back, waiting for the scene to come back to the fuck he knew was waiting.
Xander whimpered when the bedroom flickered onto the screen, rocking slightly between Spike’s hands in anticipation. “Shhhh,” Spike told him. “Just watch, pet. Just watch for me.” Spike concentrated on Xander, ignoring the action on the screen. He had to be alert for each and every reaction, careful to time his actions to suit. Xander barely had his eyes open but Spike knew how riveted he was. Each touch and tease on screen produced a sound and a twitch, his cock achingly hard in Spike’s fist.
Spike removed his other hand, timing the snap of the cap opening with the one on screen. Xander’s eyes widened slightly when something cool touched him, while on screen the redhead was also prepared. “He looks good like that, doesn’t he pet?” Spike asked to distract him. “Spread open and waiting. He’s pretty like that, wet and willing and so, so sexy.” A lube-slick finger eased into Xander’s body. Spike couldn’t fuck right into him the way he wanted, stopping before the first knuckle was inside. “He loves it, too. Can see it, can’t you? See how much he wants it. Wants someone else to play with that pretty body. Wants to be taken.”
Xander’s panting went ragged with need, the cock still in Spike’s fist throbbing dangerously fast. Dangerously because Spike needed to draw this out the length of the on-screen fuck and Xander was already moments from coming. Grunts and groans and the sound of skin rubbing against skin came from the television, louder then the near-continuous whimpering Xander was making deep in his throat. His hips jerked backward then forward, shoving himself deeper against Spike’s finger before fucking himself into Spike’s fist. His eyes were wide now, blood-shot and empty, and Spike was glad his own jeans were still on, or he’d be coming from that sight alone.
“Beautiful,” he panted out. “So fuckin’ beautiful. Gonna teach you, pet. Gonna make you mine. Gonna make you love it. And you are gonna love it, pet, you’re gonna need it.” Spike eased his finger all the way inside, leaning forward so his mouth was near Xander’s ear. “Look at him on all fours, open and needing each thrust inside him. That’s what you need, Xander. That’s what you want. That’s what I’m gonna to give you. And you’re going to love every. Sodding. Second of it.”
He kept up the hot, whispered words until the dominant character stiffened on screen, pumping the redhead full of his come. Spike snarled softly. He’d gotten lost in the words and blown his timing. Well, all wasn’t quite lost, since Xander was still hard. Waiting like a good boy. Oh, yes, pet, you want this so much don’t you. So perfect for me. Quickly finding the boy’s prostate, he pressed down on it—hard. “Come,” he growled directly in Xander’s ear. “Come now.”
Xander gasped, eyes totally unseeing as he bucked once, twice—and came all over Spike’s hand.
Dismissing the tv as irrelevant for the moment, Spike unbuttoned his jeans and used Xander’s come as a lubricant. “Look at me,” he barked, the first loud, demanding voice he’d used that night. Xander’s eyes flew to his cock, glazed and unseeing and so fucking perfect that Spike barely needed to stroke himself before he was spilling over Xander’s softening cock. “Mine,” he hissed as he came. “Mine.”
And Xander bucked, gasped, and came again—and passed out.
* * * *
Spike gave it a few days before he showed his head again. Enough for the boy to get past the denial stage and start wondering why Spike didn’t want him, what he’d done wrong. Not that he had or that Spike didn’t—it was all so beautifully exquisite that Spike had jerked himself raw on the memory—but he wanted Xander to think so. Got to keep him guessing, don’t I? We’re not done yet, Xander. Not at all. But now he was so close that he was tempted to throw his whole plan out the window, grab Xander, and fuck the boy until the chip fired and they both screamed and bled as they came.
Waiting that long had also given Spike a chance to control himself before seeing Xander again. Because as hot as that sounded, it wasn’t really what Spike wanted. Not yet, anyway.
He kept in the shadows as the Scoobies assembled in the courtyard outside Giles’ apartment. The girls were all chatting about upcoming classes, Riley included as he was still a TA. Spike didn’t know the details and didn’t care. Not when Xander was standing off to the side, looking into the shadows with a forlorn expression in those dark, dark eyes.
“Hello, pet,” Spike said softly. Xander jerked with surprise, his body turning—just like you were taught, good boy!—towards Spike’s instinctively.
“Spike. Hey. You’ve, ah, been gone awhile.”
Spike ignored the question in favor of moving closer and letting his fingers rest next to Xander’s. “We never finished that video, you know. Think you may want to see the rest of it tonight?” He could smell Xander getting hard just from his presence, but that wasn’t the true litmus test for this hunter. No, this time the prey wasn’t going to be cajoled and seduced into submitting. This time it was going to be open invitation. Remind his prey that it could think—when Spike let it, anyway. “I can cue it up right where we left off.”
True prey always was so. Even when the predator let it go, teasing and toying with it. Prey always knew that. And most of the time, the little sluts loved every second of it. So no, the test wasn’t the verbal invitation. The test was Spike placing his hand on Xander’s arse, cupping it and giving it a good squeeze.
And Xander moaned.