Still by Lazuli Kat




It would be terrifying, Spike considered, to be completely out of control.  Not through rage or passion, simply…out of control.  Having no control.


Having lost control.  Unwittingly relinquished control.


Bad enough to have lost control of a part of one’s being, to have lost the ability to feed/fight/fuck at will where his natural prey was concerned, but the whole  Didn’t bear thinking of.


Unless, of course…it wasn’t about him.



Spike leant back and studied the body on the bed, staring along its length, never having had the chance to simply look before.  Well, not without being challenged vocally or physically over the act, then it would be about quarrels, taunts, the potential ducking of a fist.


The body wasn’t customarily in this state, taking for granted the complete cessation of movement; the greatest sense of unfamiliarity was fuelled by the non-existence of meaningless drivel pouring from that mouth, the liberating absence of irritating and frequently misplaced humour.


Xander Harris.  Still.  At long bloody last.  Magicked still.


“He will keep breathing?  Don’t want him to suffocate before he’s had the opportunity to be thoroughly humiliated.”


Looking.  A novelty.  Manifestation of the greater power that was complete domination.


Looking, and Spike saw open eyes that stared blindly at the ceiling, parted lips that gasped for oxygen, cold sweat trickling over unfeeling skin.  Terrified.  The man was justifiably terrified.  With a mean smile, Spike listened to the rhythm of Xander’s heart as it pounded at double time.  Terrified.





Spike had actually paid for the spell.  Hard come by dollars.  Okay, the money had been dishonestly hard come by, but Xander should have been flattered.  Unfortunately he was deaf to Spike’s words and would never know.  Possibly.  He was presently deaf to Spike’s words but it didn’t have to stay that way.


The vampire had been very specific about the kind of spell he wanted.  Reversible.  Not that he was expecting any crisis of conscience which would encourage him to free the Scooby, but he wanted to be able to do this again, and again, and, most probably, again.  It was reversible, but the manner of its reversal had been specifically requested too: magicked still and Xander would only feel, move, or sense where a special oil touched him.


Where Spike touched him.


And if Spike chose not to touch him, he’d be frozen until he withered away and died, whether or not his friends chose to interfere.


Perfect.  It was bloody perfect.



Spike had chosen to carry out his revenge in Xander’s own home; when, at some point, he allowed the human to be aware, he wanted Xander to understand that his last refuge had been assailed, and that he himself had been foolish enough to grant Spike access.  Despite their differences, it had been a doddle for Spike to persuade Xander to let him stay overnight.  All he’d needed was his best vastly-distressed-yet-bravely-trying-to-conceal-it expression that had even suckered Angelus before now, and a story about aggrieved demons staking out his crypt and attempting to do the same to his body.


It actually bothered Spike that Xander had given in so easily; nice nature, too fair.  Almost took the fun out of this.  Almost.


To the kitchen, helping himself to one of the beers Xander had forbidden him to go near, then Spike made himself comfortable in the living room.  He switched on the TV, flicked around the channels; of course nothing was going to catch his attention tonight, the delaying tactics were about building anticipation, forthcoming attractions before the main feature.


Flick, flick, flick, flick, off.  No genuine interest.  TV was for watching; right now, Spike was about doing.  For the first time in too long he was about doing, and the knowledge sent shivers up his spine, down his limbs, through his torso, before they predictably arrowed in on his groin.  His horny, demony self had been shockingly deprived as of late, so no surprise that his cock was quite so interested in the available body in the next room.  Wouldn’t have mattered who or what, race, gender, living, dead, the key word here was available.


Helpless.  The body at his disposal was helpless.  Hot, supple…  Oh, fuck, tight, has to be so tight  …and helpless.


Okay, before it became necessary to calm matters down with a hearty wank…  The warlock had given Spike a detailed account of how to execute the spell, exactly what to expect (including, on pain of death, the promise of a live body to work on as opposed to the not-so-desirable-in-this-particular-case dead variety) and how to best exploit the qualities of the hexed oil.  Spike re-read the idiot-proof instructions one last time, refreshing his memory of the spell in case it was needed to subdue his victim: in his excitement there was always a chance he’d be too generous with the oil.  Finally he abandoned the paper along with his forgotten beer and returned to the bedroom.



Back to looking.  Still a novelty.  Could remain a novelty for a long time.


He closed Xander's eyes, not wanting them to dry out, then…  A touch.  The first real, wickedly-intentioned touch, fingertips dragging through hair, over jaw, neck – lovely strong pulse – chest.  The t-shirt was grasped by the hem and slowly ripped apart.


“One smartarse comment too many.  Understand?  I’m a patient man, but…  Actually, that’s a lie, but I don’t hear you arguing,” Spike smirked, tugging the remnants of the t-shirt free and tossing them away, running a hand over his prize.  The flesh was hot, slightly tacky, smooth until it was interrupted by the small patch of hair on Xander’s breastbone.  He played with the coarse strands as his eyes were drawn to the fuller cluster around the man’s navel, the thinner trail that led into his pants.  One finger reached out to trace the line.  And again.


“Must be scary being you right now,” Spike conceded.  “Trapped in that uncontrollable dead weight of a body.”  He squeezed a nipple and was disappointed by the lack of physical reaction.  But, he reminded himself, that was what the oil was for.  His attention flickered to the bottle.  “All in good time,” he murmured.  Back to Xander.  “Can’t say no to me, can you?  Bet that would scare a mouthy git like you.  Bet it will when I let you know what’s happening here.”  Hands rested on Xander’s waistband for a moment before nimbly dealing with button and zipper.  “‘Cause you will know.”  He began to drag the jeans down.  “You’ll know, and maybe I’ll let you scream at me, scream ‘no’, all of your no’s, but by then it will be too late.  You’ll belong to me.  Your bloody arse will belong to me.  Bloody, bloody arse.”


“Have I reminded you recently that I’m evil?”  Spike chuckled; jeans off, hands running up the muscular legs, appreciating the strength within his control.  “And did I forget to mention that the hilarious spectacle of me being repeatedly and agonisingly zapped by that charged demon last week wouldn’t have made you lot laugh quite so hard if you’d known it was knocking out the chip?”  Fists bunched in cotton.  “Yeah.  Forgot to mention.  That’d be why you haven’t seen me for a couple of days.  Feeding frenzy.  Building up a little energy for this; wouldn’t want to disappoint.”


Spike tore Xander’s boxers to shreds.  Stood back to study what he had.  Looking, novelty, yeah, that’s covered.  Xander Harris, naked, head to toes.  His victim.  His.



Done touching.  There wasn’t a fraction of this body that he hadn’t claimed by touch.  No oil yet, so no response.  Just Xander taking it, accepting him, heartbeat calming.  Spike wondered if that was simply because Xander was becoming used to his confinement, or if he’d sensed the reassuringly gentle hands exploring his body, sensed because it was impossible for him to feel.  Coincidence, no doubt, but Spike felt a decidedly un-evil pang at the idea of Xander, in his fear, being comforted by the vampire he apparently hated above all things.


Not good.  Certainly not appropriate if you took into consideration the entire lack of clothing, the raging erection the vampire was sporting, the vulnerability of the human who was spread and propped, ready and unwilling.  Taking the hexed oil, Spike dribbled some over his cock and spread it with smooth strokes.  He was planning on taking, simply taking.  No preparation, there would be blood, there would be the shock of agony when the oil on Spike restored the feeling to Xander’s ass, the only thing he’d be aware of in his prison of sensory deprivation; the shock of agony to precede the shock of it all when he knew.


Spike hesitated momentarily.  It was more than rape.  It was the slayer’s sidekick.  If he did this there was no way back.  Revenge and skip town, no other option.


“You’re doing me another favour, mate.  Nice fuck and a reason to get out of this shit heap of a place and never come back.  Cheers.”


He knelt in position between Xander’s thighs, gazed up the body for the nth time.  A further hesitation.  The demon was screaming for Spike to hurt this pathetic, vulnerable human, but Xander was so pretty, and Spike liked pretty things.  Granted, there were many times when he’d have happily punched Xander’s prettiness into a state of epidermal mush but, overall, happy with the pretty.


He found himself staring at the flaccid penis he’d thoroughly examined, wishing he could feel it grow, see it hard, wishing—  Spike swore at himself, at his own weaknesses that let Xander’s pale by comparison.


Get on with it, rip him open, show him what happens when you piss off a demon, rip him…


“Fuck!  Fuck!  Always was too bloody soft for my own good.”


New approach.  This was about humiliation, not pain.  Humiliation: that worked.  Longer shelf life too.


Spike carefully stretched Xander…  Tight, so fucking tight, so…  …slicking him with the magic oil; he took care not to be too liberal with the fluid, he just wanted Xander to feel himself being well fucked by some phantom cock.  His whole body numb except for his ass, which was being used by some unknown force.  That sounded…  Spike rubbed himself.  That sounded bloody sexy, and if he were Xander, he’d enjoy…


Better.  Better and better.


“I wake you up, right?  Bit at a time, get you going, when you’re ready to shoot I give you back your eyes and you see it’s me but it’s too late for you to hold back.  You’d never forgive yourself, would you?  And you’re the sort of daft git I could persuade that if you came you really wanted it, that’d keep you quiet for a while, so no me getting staked while I hang around here and even up a few old scores.”



Pressure, and Spike watched the head of his cock being swallowed by the ring of muscle at Xander’s opening.  A noise of sheer bliss broke from his throat at the heat, the grip.  A pulse of pre-come drooled from his glans and he almost came, just from knowing that he was inside the human, stealing this precious virginity and leaving his ineradicable mark.  A little fantasy flashed through his mind: in-denial Xander out on patrol and coming face-to-face with a demon that won’t touch him because he stinks of a Master vampire’s spunk.  Stunned girlie tones: ‘Why, Xander, why did it leave you alone?  What saved your life?’


Spike put it to you and saved your life.  Stick in your craw or what?


A little more pressure and he was sliding deeper.  Pressure and he wasn’t so much ‘in’ as embedded.


“Come for me and you’ll never forgive yourself.  I can do that to you.  I know how to do that.”


It had been a while, but Spike knew the tricks, the angles, even if the surrounding heat was severely distracting.  A few minutes to muster some control, and Spike fucked.  Slowly, and for himself, purely for himself.  Savouring the clenching passage that almost stripped the skin from his cock.


“Feel me?  Feel my – Spike’s – prick inside you?  You’ll hate me so much when you know.  Know it’s me breaking in your virgin arse.  And when you feel my scum inside you…  You’ll hate me beyond words, beyond actions, beyond any kind of coming to terms with, and I get to watch the falling apart of your paltry world.  Glorious.  Bloody glorious.”


Spike fucked.  Slowly.  Gently?  Purely for himself.


Force of habit had him glancing repeatedly at his partner’s unnaturally passive face, and every time he did he felt the bitterness of a man who is not wanted.  Bastard!  Fucking bastard!  Back to Plan A?  Pain.  Make him crawl up the fucking wall to get away from me.  If he could move at all.


That was it, simple as that, and Spike had lost sight of it.  My weakness.  He’d always preferred his victims to have a bit of fight in them, so where was the fun in this?  Not that he wasn’t wanted – although he undoubtedly wasn’t and surely that was the point? – just that he wasn’t being responded to.


Stick with Plan B: humiliation, come, revenge, leave town, take him with…  No!  Bloody fucking no!  Poxy possessive demon!  Don’t kill it, so wants to keep it.  Well, fuck me, no!


Response, that was the way to go.  Spike sat back on his heels and oiled his hands, drawing them over Xander’s feet, ankles, shins, calves, knees, thighs.  As feeling was restored the limbs began to twitch and shake.  The vibration through Xander’s body to Spike’s cock felt good and he couldn’t resist fucking for a while, but was ultimately still dissatisfied.  His excitement grew as he thought of freeing more of Xander from the spell, thought of this body battling him, trying to buck him off.


More oil and Spike ran his hands over Xander’s hips up to his stomach, slipping beneath his body, returning all function from the waist down except for the obvious, smiling at the tremors and waiting for the fun to start, the human’s attempts to dislodge whoever this was taking such pitiless advantage.


But the immediate response to this invasion of Xander’s person was nothing like Spike had imagined: thighs opened, giving him easier access, calves folded around his legs, urging him on.  Every movement clumsy in the wake of the spell, but the message was undeniable.


“Horny little bugger,” Spike smiled, catching the affection in his voice and stamping down on any kind of warmth for his victim.


Victim.  Victim, victim, victim.  Don’t start pining for a lover because it’s never going to happen, not with this one.


A deliberate kick from Xander, a spirited if ineffectual thrust, and Spike clearly understood the message about just where his restoring touch was needed most after the nice workout he’d been giving the human’s hot spot.  Which opened up a further option: Plan B or Plan C?  Plan C being the resoundingly thorough fuck that Xander seemed to want…  And, let’s face it, I’m certainly the bloke to give it.  …but with the ultimate cruelty of not being allowed to climax.


Spike fell forward, weight on his hands, and rolled his hips, twisting and nudge-nudge-nudging Xander’s prostate, hearing the heartbeat rocket once again and grinning gleefully.  Not all spite, that grin, as it exposed another of his weaknesses: the pursuit of reciprocal pleasure.  He couldn’t resist it, and that was one hell of a flaw in the eyes of those who’d dragged his demon into this existence, but Spike was…what Spike was.  And Xander was evidently enjoying what Spike was.


“You’ll never be able to forgive either of us.  Bloody White Hat getting your jollies with the kind of creature you loathe.  Specifically this creature.”  Spike chuckled as Xander’s breathing broke into shallow panting.  “Good for you, baby?” he crooned, and laughed again – at both of them – because it so obviously was.


And extracting pleasure from someone who, at an educated guess, would rather sew up his own arse with razor wire than submit to a vampire was a whole new thrill.


“Bet you want to beg me, eh?  Beg me to give you your cock back and let you get off.”  That thought and Spike fucked.  Loved the thought of a hard, desperate Xander, beholden to Spike for his pleasure.  Fucked until the body beneath him was strained and trembling – from the waist down, at least.  Spike eased up and ran soothing touches over Xander’s hips and legs, and gradually the shaking stopped, the heart rate slowed, the breathing returned to something akin to normal.


Pleased at Xander’s anxious movements when he reluctantly pulled out of the man’s moreish heat, Spike sat back and looked at what he’d done.  Who he’d done.  Just looked.  Novelty.


Turning, Spike considered.  Long time since he’d made a new vampire, and never a childe.  But that way he could keep the nice new sex toy, punish Xander for his past sins for a long, long eternity, and break the slayer’s heart all in one fell swoop.


So…  Plan D?



A tiny dab of oil on his fingertip and Spike massaged it lightly into Xander’s right nipple, hearing the expected gasp as sensation returned, feeling the flesh beneath his finger tighten into a sharp point.


Spike couldn’t prevent his own groan at the reaction; he loved sensitivity in a partner, and not only for torture.


He repeated his actions with the left nipple, teasing and tickling, and as he shifted to comfortably play with both taut buds, he noticed the clear fluid that had begun to leak from the tip of Xander’s limp, numb cock.


“Ever known anything like this before?  Ever been so turned on that—”


Spike snatched back the question, unsure of which of them it was directed at.



Actually, this plan was feeling pretty good, whichever one it was, with the vampire fucking and fucking and fucking to his heart’s content, and the human getting what he was given, liking what he was given if the encouraging bumps and kicks were anything to go by.


“Wrong, wrong, wrong.  Supposed to be punishing you.  Supposed…  Oh, fuck.”


Xander’s breathing was back to ragged, coarse and rousing, and Spike knew this had to change.  The plans, each and every one, were screwed up and mixed up and Xander had to pay, not be lying there and inarticulately grunting with pleasure.  If he’d only groan in fear it would be little enough but possibly quite enough to prove to Spike that this wasn’t just another vast cock-up of the non-penile variety.


Spike had to be…fearsome.  But…  Terrorise him telepathically, shall I?  The git can’t see, can’t hear, can’t…  He could feel.  With a few prompts he could imagine.


Xander managed a few incoherent noises of protest as Spike withdrew, noises that turned to frustrated whimpers when he felt a mouth on his thigh, kissing its way to the tender inner flesh.  Fidgeting limbs froze as fangs pierced the skin’s surface, raising beads of blood that Spike lapped up and found himself predictably orgasmic over; heightened beat from the man’s chest as he figured out the nature of his new ‘lover’, extraordinary noise – indescribable in sound or sense – as the bite was deepened, delicately, to convey this new sensation rather than cause serious damage.


Penetration.  Spike had always loved that word.


It mattered now: hearing the words rather than interpreting the noises.  Spike slipped a finger into Xander’s mouth to oil his tongue, the entire oral cavity, moving onto the full lips, wanting protestations and pleas for mercy, laying a bet with himself at the first words: who, what, why?  Stop, if it was purely about the bite.  Shortly followed by threats involving the slayer now that Xander had figured out the offending body was less than human.


He touched Xander's ears to ensure the Scooby heard himself begging, because he’d certainly remember that shame when he found out who this was.


The noises took their time forming speech; Spike decided on a little more incentive for the human to be raging mad at his treatment, and smirked as he wrapped his oily hand around Xander’s cock, watching with fascination as it expanded in what had to be record time, limp to rigid and...  Need him, need to be…  Between quivering thighs, inside again, one thrust and holding still because.


A very decent cock, Spike admitted as his fingers played in the mix of oil and pre-come, his touch delicate and arousing, confusing Xander, he knew, confusing himself and…  Don’t go there.  …then Spike wondered, for a split second, if it was too late to stop this before any real damage was done.  Before Xander knew.


Maybe, Spike told himself, he could stop now, go away, come back later and be the one to rescue Xander.  Surely the young man would be so grateful this wouldn’t have to end and…


Bugger, bugger, bugger!


Spike absolutely despaired of himself.  He fucked, he tugged, he waited for the words of rage that would stoke his evilness.


Unshaped sounds became words of stunning clarity.


“Yeah, yeah…”


Wha…?  Must’ve misheard.  Surely you mean, nononononooooo!


“Oh, yeah, please, please, harder, oh fuck, yes!”


Spike flagged momentarily as he checked which reality he was in.


“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please, pleasepleaseplease, fuck me.”


Every inch of Spike’s body responded to the pleas, and suddenly this was a good fuck, a great fuck, not petty revenge but being wanted, albeit anonymously.  Of course, if he was being the evil creature he absolutely did not have to convince himself he still was he’d do the opposite of what Xander was begging for.  Yeah, right.  Xander wanted, Xander got, Xander groaned with pleasure and Spike almost came at the sound.


Bastard!  You did that on purpose!


“Don’t stop, don’t…  You stopped, why?  Please, just…”


Spike’s hand covered Xander’s mouth; a curious tongue crept out and licked Spike’s palm; the vampire stifled a giveaway moan.


Should’ve had his mouth, lovely hot mouth, should’ve fucked his mouth first.


Plan…what was this?  The one where the vampire doesn’t give the human back his eyes because he wants to be wanted until the end?  The one where the vampire makes every effort to be as good as the human unaccountably warrants?  Wrong, and Spike didn’t care as he rammed himself home, losing rhythm because he could barely maintain control and he wanted to feel Xander…


Spike,” Xander hissed, cock pulsing and spurting in the vampire’s eagerly attentive hand.  Spike,” as he came and, whether it was a guess or the fantasy running in his head, it was enough.  With a roar of delight Spike soared into his climax too, fucking and fucking, warming cool fluids with the friction, pounding into the new slickness.  Fucking and not wanting this over with, fucking until he eventually collapsed.



They laid in silence for a long time, recovering from their orgasms.  Until…


“Don’t leave me like this,” Xander said, quite reasonably, and when Spike was over the initial euphoric shock of selectively hearing just the ‘Don’t leave me’ he realised that Xander was still semi-paralysed.  “Let me see.”


Gentle touches to the eyelids and the oil worked its magic; Spike watched the blinking, the squinting, sensitive even in the half-light.  Knowing Xander was unable to turn his head, Spike moved into his sight line, expression a carefully controlled mask of indifference as he met the human’s eyes.


Not what Spike had expected.  No fury or shame or upset.  No shock at seeing Spike.  A mask as efficiently concealing true feelings as his own.


“Don’t leave me like this.”


Spike spent a few minutes making the decision, sat up, and took his time massaging the oil into Xander’s upper torso, back then front, repeatedly covering every inch, purely to ensure that Xander had feeling back to his entire body.  He ran greasy fingers into the dark hair, massaging the scalp and enjoying the fuck-sweaty heat until he was certain to have resurrected every follicle.


Done, and Spike waited for those restored arms to stop trembling and start pounding the restored fists into him, not even sure if he’d bother to defend himself despite being able.  He stared at Xander in arrogant challenge, guardedly anticipating the first blow, but the cheekiest smile crept over the young man’s handsome face and, seconds later, Xander was awkwardly twisting and rising and sliding his oily body over Spike.  The vampire found himself being kissed and touched, enthusiastic kisses, lovely touches, and suddenly he was the one coping with raging emotions, defences buckling under the onslaught of desire he’d unwittingly released.


Even if his intellectual response was to wonder what exactly he'd managed to fuck up regarding the spell, his physical response was automatic, cock rising fast against the already rigid, hot and potent variety nudging against it, and Xander was nibbling at his ear and neck and collarbone, using blunt teeth to tease pebbled nipples, tasting and worshipping, caressing, and fingers were slithering down to fondle Spike’s balls and tickle behind and back and, to his utter disgust, Spike found himself spreading and offering, completely lost to this fervent expression of want.


But when Xander threatened to probe into his body, Spike rebelled, alarmed by the move if he were honest, jerking aside, knocking Xander’s hand away.  He’d never had a bloke fuck him in his entire existence and he wasn’t about to start with Xander Harris.


Xander collapsed onto his back, system zingy as it recovered from the Still hex, stretching and flexing and reaching out a proprietary hand to grasp Spike’s less than convinced version.


“God, Spike, how did you know?” Xander asked, voice rough with present emotion rather than past spell. “How did you guess, I’ve tried not to…  If I’d known you wanted me things would have been so different, if I’d known you’d let me close I could’ve…could’ve…  I don’t know what but something.  I’ve been so crazy wanting this, wanting you, I’ve been so frustrated it’s made me cruel, I’m sorry for that, I’m so sorry.”  Xander finally noticed how quiet Spike was.  “You okay?  Have I…  You okay, Spike?”


Right, time to tell you a thing or two, you obnoxious little shit.


“Yeah, I’m okay,” Spike actually told Xander and, to his horror, the smile it incited warmed him from head to toe.


Xander turned to face Spike, moving closer and drawing patterns over the vampire’s stomach.


“It’s like you’ve taken one of my favourite fantasies and made it real.  And the thought of you wanting me this much…”  Fucking didn’t!  Did I?  “Is this usual?  I’ve wondered, about the way vampires make a move, didn’t think it’d be candy and flowers.”


Making a fucking move?  You have to be—  Huh?  Fantasies?  What fantasies?




Even post-coital and naked, Xander had the grace to blush.


“Usually it’d be more corny, me waking up in chains and you…”


“Chains?  You want chains?”


“I’ve wanted you.  I want you.  To want me.  And the chains…  That’s you not knowing you can have me and needing to take.  It wouldn’t have mattered how or when or where, just so long as…this.  I realised a long time ago but there’s been no way to tell you that you could have me any way you wanted, and, this side of turning me or killing me, you could do whatever you chose to.  I know sometimes I’m…squeamish, that the right word?”  Spike nodded.  “But not with you, not like this.”


Well…bugger.  Best laid bloody plans and…  Plan A.  Should’ve gone with Plan A.  Pain, and off this moron’s scale.  Show him squeamish.  He’ll get his flowers, nailed to his fucking skull like a crown of thorns.


Brushing Xander’s arm aside, Spike turned away, wanting time to think, and after the hours he’d wasted he had to make it fast: dawn was on its way, he could sense it.  He didn’t want to be trapped here.  Or did he?  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  Spike shivered and Xander considerately snuggled closer to his back, arm wrapping tightly around his waist.


“I’ll take care of you now.  Not that you need taking care of but, y’know, I can help you.  I’ll stop Buffy threatening you, I can make sure you’re fed properly, I’ll…  That’ll be difficult: stopping Buffy without telling her.  Telling them.  And I guess you wouldn’t want to tell them about us.  If there is an us.  But there must be an us, you wouldn’t go to this trouble for one bout of sex, and you bit me as a part of this, not to feed, not to kill, and that has to mean something in vampire, yeah, so…  You think I can tell them?  I’m prepared to be honest, tell them that in this case the whole vampire-hating but now vampire-loving thing was about not having you and being…  Oh.  Did I scare you?  Loving in a physical sense, no pressure there, not loving in the…  Because you couldn’t, I get that, not a Master vampire and a human, could…  No.  Moving right on and I won’t tell them if you don’t want me to, I can see why you wouldn’t, and I guess I’ll have to keep being mean to you in front of them and that’s gonna be hard, but…”


For a moment Spike was tempted to use the spell, just for a little peace.


“Shut up, Harris.”


“Yeah.”  Xander chuckled to himself.  “Harris.”


Spike turned in Xander’s embrace and studied the face he’d looked at a thousand times but never really been allowed to see until now.


“Slight problem with all that: the taking care and telling people.  We hate each other.”


Shock, then a grin.


“Well, we’ve had to pretend…”


“No pretence.  At least, not from me.”


A gamut of emotions tumbled over Xander’s features until he forced a halt to them and went to neutral with a hint of smile.


“Think you can make…hate to me one last time before we go back to the real world?”


Spike pushed Xander onto his back and fell over his victim, sharp knees re-opening the bite and leaving imminent bruises as they jabbed the too-slow thighs apart, immediate erection easily finding access to the young man’s oily body.  Not caring that Xander’s involuntary reciprocal thrust was accompanied by a gasp that now sounded more of dismay than gratification.  Okay, Spike had liked Xander enjoying him, he could admit that, but it wasn’t what this was about.


“You’re an idiot.  With your taking care of me, and telling your friends, and imagining this was about some bloody juvenile fantasy.  I did this because I hate you, because I want you traumatised and humiliated, see how you like it,” Spike told him as he began a slow, smooth, elegant fuck.  “I hate you.  I.  Hate.  You.”


The pain in Xander’s eyes was exactly what Spike had originally hoped for.


Pain, yes.  Pain.


“Okay,” Xander whispered, hands grasping at Spike’s body in fear of the hatred taking this away from him.


No danger of that; the force of Spike’s thrusts increased with every grievance.


“I’ve hated the way you talk at me not to me.  The way you look at me as if I came in on the bottom of your shoe.  Hate the way you’ve dismissed me.  Laughed at my misfortune.”  He lowered himself and kissed Xander, tearing soft lips in his vicious passion.  “Hate the way you look at everyone else around you with love and me with contempt,” he mindlessly continued.  “Hate the way you haven’t wanted me, you’ve wanted everyone but me.  Hate…”


“The ways I’ve tried to cover up how I really feel,” Xander interrupted through clenched teeth, fighting his own feelings and refusing to be lost to lust because he needed to listen to this.


“You’re such a randy little bastard.  I’ve caught you lusting after all the girls, all of ‘em, any of ‘em.  Indiscriminately.  Lost count of the times I’ve turned up and the air stinks of your lust.  Whenever I walk into a bloody room and you’re there, that’s all I can smell.  Been driving me crazy.  Fuck.  Fuck!  Why the bloody sodding fuck has no-one ever wanted me that fiercely?  Sending out pheromones that – that…scald.”


“And you think I’m stupid,” Xander genially taunted.


Spike stopped rambling.  He fell still, as did Xander’s hands, hot hands burning their mark into Spike’s cool skin, branding him; he’d feel them forever more, every finger, ridge, whorl, callus, the splinter in the pad of Xander’s right thumb.


“Tonight was no fantasy, you moron, it was rape.”


A smile gradually transformed Xander’s face to something quite lovely.  He tightened his grip and hefted Spike into him.


“Which one of us is the idiot, Spike, the moron?  Which one of us got what he wanted?  Huh?  Who got the fantasy?  I hope you’re not expecting me to fall to pieces over this.  ‘Cause I have fantasies that make this pretty damn vanilla.  God, the things I want to do to you…”  Xander paused, shook loose those particular thoughts: this was, ironically, neither the time nor place.  “No-one ever accused me of being deep and meaningful, I’m just a shallow, horny guy, and I just got something I wanted really badly.  You shouldn’t make the mistake the others make.  Everyone underestimates me.  What I’m capable of.  What I am – who I am – inside my head.  They’d find it hard to believe that this was…acceptable.  But it’s that and more.  I wanted you to fuck me – to take me – and that’s what I got, and this memory will give me something to jerk off to for the next year.  So…to recap.  I’m the moron?  Wasn’t me who made all this effort to fuck someone he didn’t want as part of yet another plan that kicked him squarely in the ass.  I may have got fucked, but I’m not the one who got fucked over.”


Unbreakable.  The man was unbreakable.  Spike was in equal parts disappointed, relieved.  Aroused.


He kissed Xander, carefully now, delicately licking the damage to his lips and knowing the healthy young human would quickly heal, slipping his tongue into the waiting mouth and savouring too much.


Spike began to move again, burying himself as deeply as Xander had buried his true feelings.


“Oh, God…” came softly from Xander, and he almost sounded in pain.  “This is so good, and you’re so…  I’ve wanted you so much.”


“How long?”


“From the start.  Took a long time to admit it to myse…”  Xander gasped as Spike gave a couple of hard thrusts, wanting to hear Xander trying to talk through the sensation, surprised when the broken words disintegrated into soft laughter.




Xander laughed again.


“For someone who doesn’t want me…”  Their eyes met, and Xander’s sparkled brightly, a taunt lurking in brown depths.  “You so fucking want me.”




“Yeah, sure.  Why this way?  All the ways you could have—”  Once again the words were usurped by pleasure, intentionally, Spike determined not to have that question seriously put to him.  Why this way?  Any answer other than the obvious, what Xander already knew, would be transparent bullshit.  “Spike…”


The vampire silenced Xander with more kisses, undeniably filled with passion that was more than hatred, Spike unable to get enough of that bittersweet mouth.


Oh, fuck, yes, now, I can have it, I…


“Don’t stop, don’t go.”


“Get a wet cloth,” Spike ordered as he pulled out.




“Thought you might like to wipe me down before you suck me.  But if you like the taste of your own—”


Xander went quickly, returning with a bowl of warm water, soap, cloth and towel, proceeding to take his time over washing Spike, examining him closely, face a picture of loving fascination.  Spike watched, smiled at the way Xander’s tongue would press against his upper lip as he concentrated, wanted to suck that agile digit into his mouth again, wanted…


Almost as much as Xander wanted, and it was Spike’s turn to gasp as Xander began to explore his cock with lips and tongue.


Once again Xander’s fingers crept back, soapy and slippery, teasing their way between muscular cheeks as Spike tried to separate that sensation from the rest and figure out if he should be doing anything about it other than moaning and fisting his hands in Xander’s hair, getting ready to come like a geyser the next time Xander…sucked…hard…just…  There!



Spike’s softening cock was still in Xander’s mouth, being suckled very gently, the tongue that had seemed superhuman in its pursuit of milking Spike now showing a delicacy that made Spike sigh with contentment.


With a start Spike realised that the pleasantly strange squirmy feeling was nothing to do with his joyful post-orgasmic state, but more about Xander’s fingers which had breached him and, right now, diddling something inside him that made him want to…want to…


Fuck knows, just WANT TO!


Xander let Spike’s cock slip from his lips, and he began to explore the surrounding terrain more thoroughly, poking his tongue into Spike’s navel, licking and nibbling his balls, gnawing his way along a pronounced hip-bone.  As his fingers made Spike’s brain leak from his ears.


“I’m desperate to fuck you, Spike.  You have no idea of how many times I’ve dreamt of doing it, how many times I’ve come just thinking about…”


Oh.  No.  You.  Bloody.  Don’t.


Xander’s hand was abruptly torn away from Spike’s body by a force that threw Xander clear of the bed.  He sat up slowly, meeting the golden eyes of one highly irritated vampire.


“That’d be a no then,” he accurately observed.


“That’d be a no,” Spike agreed, lowering himself with a growl and wondering why he felt twitchy and empty, angry that Xander was so very stupid about…everything, that if he’d asked…  Asked?  Fucking asked!  Still would have told him to fuck off! Spike screeched at himself inside his head.


Xander took his time getting up, kneeling on the edge of the bed, hands resting on his thighs.


“Sorry.  Got carried away.”


“You really are the biggest fucking idiot.”


“Oh.  Wounded.  Never heard that before,” Xander said flatly, and Spike could practically hear him rolling his eyes.  And wanted to smile because the tenacious sod was so admirably immune to insults.


Oh.  Fuck.


Xander was still hard: it would take more than being chucked on the floor to quell this walking hormone.  Spike glanced over, inappropriately turned on by the fact that Xander wasn’t touching himself, horrified at just how badly he wanted to do the touching for him.  But Spike didn’t want to show a second’s weakness.


And that is weak, how exactly?  Taking what I want is weak?  Losing the plot, losing the plot.  Losing.  The fucking.  Plot.


So Spike touched, and there it was again, on Xander’s face, the expression that was very nearly pain, the agony of getting what he’d wanted for so long.


Using his cock as a handle, Spike guided Xander closer; he got the message quickly, straddling Spike and reaching back to awkwardly introduce the vampire’s hard-again cock into his body.


When Xander moved it was stiltedly, shakily, overwhelmed as he was by the still-new sensations that this – the what and the who – created in his ass, gut, heart.  Knowing he was being used didn’t lessen his chronic need, heightened it perhaps because this might be the one and only time he’d have the vampire in his bed.  Knowing this stage of the proceedings was already about a pretty bad fuck because he couldn’t get this right first time, no way, he didn’t care about making the situation worse; he leant forward and slipped a hand behind Spike’s neck, easing him up to be kissed.


Shallow, my arse!


Full of feeling, the kisses, intimate, revealing, and afterwards Xander didn’t – couldn’t – look at Spike; eyes closed, he rode slowly, finally finding his own rhythm; experiencing.


“Look at me,” Spike demanded, sensing the man’s weakness and liking it better than his own.


“No.  I want to concentrate on how this feels.  I have to remember.”


Look at me.


Xander resentfully looked, but it was Spike who saw.  Despite Xander’s bravado the message was starting to sink in.  The Spike-hates-you-and-is-doing-this-to-torment-you was taking root and seriously hurting.  Spike should have been glad.


“Well?” Xander demanded, and Spike could feel the sudden tension brought about by the human’s realisation of his exposure.


‘Bout bloody time; sort the bastard out.


“Like it better the other way?”


The question took both of them by surprise, considerately delivered as it was.  Xander swallowed hard, stared at the pale hands that caressed his thighs.  Enticingly close to The Bite.


“Yeah,” essentially nothing more than an inarticulate whisper of sound.


With a nod Spike rolled them, not quite onto Xander’s back, not quite on their sides.  Spike laying on Xander’s right thigh, pushing the left up and against the oily chest so that Xander was beautifully exposed to him.  Spike watched, enthralled, as his cock slid in and out of that slick flesh, urgently wanting to come when he became aware that Xander was watching the watching, seeing the lust and fascination on his face, and that was making Xander’s cock twitch and drip, which was turning Spike on even more, which Xander was seeing and…


This was no good, no good at all.


Spike pushed Xander flat and ground into him, fucking roughly, trying to use and abuse but all it took was one pleasure-soaked groan, one welcoming undulation and Spike was the one who was screwed.


Realisation of his own vulnerability wasn’t supposed to make a vampire come so hard it almost turned his balls inside out, but that was Spike, and that was another failed scheme, but this one had the advantage of Xander bucking beneath him, leaving grazes in the vampire’s resilient skin as he clawed Spike close, splattering his body with another round of semen so hot that Spike knew where every speck landed.


Still but not still, panting, trembling, twitching as muscles relaxed.  Spike let himself be eased onto his back, let Xander lounge over him, kiss him: reciprocated post-fuck tender kisses that couldn’t be written off as in-the-moment.


Pretend to sleep.  Give him a last kiss, make it a bloody nice one, and call him by someone else’s name.  That’d hurt.  Oh, yeah, know how much that hurts.


Last kiss before dozing; tender, loving.  Xander’s continued touch, mouth and hands; Xander still wanting.


“Thank you, Spike,” the velvety whisper that made Spike’s toes curl.


Last kiss and a sigh.


“Thank you.  Xander.”


Oh.  Fuck.



Xander was wrapped around Spike when he woke.


What part of what plan was that?  Don’t want this lummox thinking he has any kind of right to…


Spike jerked his shoulder, dislodging Xander’s head.  Recovering rapidly, Xander propped himself up on an elbow, palm cupping his chin, pretty and attentive.  Dark eyes unfathomable.


“What do you want to do to me?”  Xander frowned.  “Your fantasies make this nothing, the things you want to do to me, what things?” Spike rattled off.


“Oh.  That.”




Xander slumped backwards, turning his face away.


“Like I’m going to tell you.”


“Tell me.”


Spike poked and Xander squirmed.


“Fuck off,” Xander responded good-naturedly and seized the offending finger.  “There are things you don’t tell people and…”


“People?  Where do people enter into this?  You’ve told someone before?  About me?”


“Not you.  Not recently.  I don’t share...thoughts.  Thoughts I have.  Not anymore.”


Implying that…


Oh, no.  No, no, no.


“I am your first,” Spike insisted.


“Is that a question or a statement?  No, wait.  Don’t answer that, and believe what you like.”


“I’m not the first?”


“Believe what you like.”


Spike was certain he had been the first.  Unless…  What if he hadn’t, what if some bastard had stolen his prize before he ever knew it was his to take?  Who?  And still around?  Still a threat?  Watcher?  Nah.  Too protective, too fucking noble.  The wolf?  Scent would be distinctive.


Spike froze.


Angel?  Angelus?


Oh, pull yourself together for Christ’s sake.


If the wolf’s scent would be distinctive, then parfum de Angelus would set every nerve screaming.  Pouting and pissed off, Spike wanted his virgin sacrifice back.  His mind was a bloody ridiculous place, and he was to believe whatever he liked.


On hands and knees he crawled over Xander, peered into his eyes, searching for a way inside the secrets.  The mask had made an unwelcome return, obliterating every tell-tale sentiment.


“Why does it matter?  Why does it matter if this is about you hating and humiliating me?”


“Because I’ve had you, and I have the right to fucking own you now; I want to know who might have a prior claim.”


“You have the right to own me?” Xander repeated incredulously before breaking into a laugh.  “That may have sounded cool in your head, but out here in the real world…”


Who?” Spike demanded, demon-faced and snarling, and Xander had the sense to show a little respect, even if he did believe the chip was still functional.


“No-one,” he admitted quietly.  “Okay?  No-one got here before you.”


The vampire’s face slid back to its human countenance.


“Good.  Not into sloppy seconds.”


“Fuck you, I’m not…!”


Anger kicked in and Xander shoved Spike away, expecting some word or gesture in retaliation and being amazed when Spike sighed, almost contentedly, and settled down to some intense staring at the ceiling.



The silence was long and decidedly cool.  The only way Xander could think of to break it was by asking for more sex – their sole means of semi-successful communication – but he didn’t think he was up for it.  He felt unaccountably dirty after that last comment of Spike’s, despite there being no good reason why he should.  At a glance he was pretty grubby, tacky with oil, fluff from the bed and crud from the floor sticking to him, semen drying in scales on his skin, but Spike’s words had introduced a different kind of dirty, one that would be harder to scrub away.  And maybe that's why the nice kids didn't play with demons.


Xander started to sit up, longing for the shower, when Spike finally spoke.


“You want me to go?”


“Sun’s up.”


“I can find a way out, don’t worry.  You want me to leave?”


“Sensibly?  Yes.  Honestly?  Go figure.”


Xander reached out a hand to touch; Spike rolled away before it could get to him.


In the ensuing silence Xander wondered if he should be the one to leave.  His bed, his home: Spike was right about him being an idiot.  And he idiotically wanted to stay close to the vampire, but Spike…  It hadn’t been pretence, that was plain.  Spike did hate him.  A real and genuine hatred that Xander had never managed to muster in response.


Xander sat on the edge of the bed, acutely aware of the two motionless backs that had been turned on one another.  Few more minutes of unpleasant introspection and he was up, pulling on sweatpants that clung uncomfortably to his skin.  He ached.  From the fucking, from the tension; aching with all kinds of emotion, but proudly regretting nothing more than Spike’s final rejection of him.


Emboldened by having precisely sod all to lose, Xander walked around the bed and crouched by Spike, waiting until the vampire opened his eyes and stared.


“I’m not gonna say a word to anyone, not about this.  Buffy won’t stake you on my account.”  Xander futiley waited for a reaction.  “It would be pretty foolish for you to try using this against me.  You may hate me enough to...  Actually, I have no idea what you'd hope to get out of it, but I won’t deny it happened if I’m asked, and if it comes out how this started you’re definitely gonna get staked, even if I say I’m okay with it.”  Once again no response so Xander tilted his head to correspond with the angle of Spike’s and gave him a sad, affectionate smile before standing and dawdling toward the door.  “It’s kinda nice, you being here.  Specially nice you being here all naked.  You are so fucking gorgeous,” Xander sighed, and the smile faded.  “Shouldn’t say it, maybe, but it’s the last chance I’ll get.  Tomorrow I guess I’m back to the ways I hide the truth.”


Xander paused with his fingers resting on the door handle and waited – hoped – to be stopped.  Nothing.  Nothing other than the pain he refused to show the vampire.



As the door clicked quietly shut behind Xander, Spike forcibly relaxed his body, welcoming a moment in which he could be privately appalled by this fiasco.  Still, he’d done what he’d hoped to in at least one of his catalogue of half-baked plans: however well Xander covered it, he knew the human had been putting on a valiant yet pointless show of bravery.  He didn’t need preternatural senses to recognise the young man’s unhappiness at the final turn of events.


Unhappiness.  Wasn’t that a fraction of what he’d wanted?  Shut the idiot up, make him pay for his words and actions, the way he…  Hid the truth?


Oh, fuck.


Luckily Spike was thoroughly evil and there was no way this could affect him.  He told himself.  As he suppressed sudden panic that rippled through him.


Oh, fuck.


Luckily Spike was thoroughly evil.


Oh, fuck, he's…


And how about that?  He’d had no idea that sweet revenge could taste so…sour.


Oh, fuck, he’s…  Me.



Spike heard the human wandering, slow, disappointed steps, the distinct sound of the fridge door shutting, metallic ping and the fizz of soda.  More wandering, around and apparently aimless until the shower started and the bathroom door closed.


Thoughts of the shower, of that increasingly alluring body in there without him, Xander contorting to scrub away the oil from places Spike could have reached effortlessly.  Too late for regrets, and Spike cursed himself for them.  He cursed himself for being too stupid and arrogant to take what had been unconditionally offered to him.  Not just Xander and the man’s willingness to be open and honest about his coupling with this social anathema, not just the strong body and potentially dynamic sex, but…the comfort of this home, the simple yet unadulterated luxury of constant hot water, being kept in a manner he deserved to become accustomed to.  If he kept his mouth shut about the chip being deactivated he could have a sweet life here, draining the occasional person, settling a few old scores, but playing at poor helpless Spike and enjoying the security of Xander’s protection, the knowledge of where the next bag of blood was coming from as he kept up the pretence – and he’d be willing to bet that Xander would step up to human plasma if Spike played on his good nature as thoroughly as he’d be playing with his body.


‘Cause I have fantasies that make this pretty damn vanilla.  God, the things I want to do to you…


He’d rejected cable, for God’s sake!


He’d rejected company.


The chance that someone might care.


Yes, very lucky that Spike was thoroughly evil and there was no way this could affect him.


He turned his face into the pillow and cursed.


Very lucky indeed.





It wasn’t until an hour later that Spike stirred, his instincts alerting him that he was no longer alone in the room, but the sensory call to arms was calmed by the recollection of where he was, who he was with.  Calmed by the soft murmur of Xander’s voice.


Someone who wanted him.  Someone who might care.  Someone, Spike corrected as he gamely hung onto his vampiric pride, who had cable.


Besides, expediency was nothing to be sneered at, who knew that better than Spike?


And this was simply expediency.




His long-still heart gave a jolt and he came to what he’d pretend was a snap decision, turning toward the young man with, not the due apology he’d rather die than give, but an amiable offer on the tip of his tongue, slanted to make it seem as if Spike was planning on doing the human a favour by sticking around.  But the offer refused to be spoken.  Spike lay there, weighed down by confusion and a body which had become an immovable burden.


As he finally bothered to listen to what Xander was saying, he recognised the pattern of words, and understood that his dreams of being a kept vampire were about to come true in the scariest of ways.


Spike realised he had foolishly made the common mistake.


Everyone underestimates me.  What I’m capable of.


Xander came into view, fixated on this object of his denied desires, the churning emotions on his face betraying lust, the acquisition of power and, alarmingly, not a hint of benevolence.  Fear, quite appropriately, because Xander was a tainted innocent who had as blinkered a view of his capabilites as those around him.


God, the things I want to do to you…



It was terrifying, Spike knew, to be completely out of control.  Having lost control.  Unwittingly relinquished control.


Inside his head he screamed for mercy, pleaded for leniency, and Xander offered him the exact same amount of consideration Spike had earlier afforded the human.




Whispered words, and the darkness, the silence, relentlessly took him; the final and lasting image that accompanied Spike to his own private hell was that of Xander’s hands.




Refusing to be still.


Shaking as they gripped the spell.