Splinters, 6/?
Oct. 12th, 2007 12:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevendeadlyfunPairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It's the stuff you don't see that counts. Three people, a Hellmouth, and what happens when you can't hold it together. And when you can...Post-Chosen/Post-NFA
A/N: Written forsouthernbangel's "Anything But" Ficathon. This is part of a series, but can be read as a stand-alone. However, if you'd like to know what's happened before now...
Previous Chapters
Spike stays still, trapped between Xander and Faith. The heat pouring off their bodies soaks into his skin and he shivers. He used to love being warm, the hotter the better. After Sunnydale, he isn't so comfortable with heat. What started with the amulet finished in that alleyway, and now he's damn near close to scrambling out of bed to find a place to cool off. The faint tang of sweat reminds him too much of charred flesh, the radiating warmth too close to a dragon's flame for comfort.
He tries to wriggle gently out Xander's embrace, but a strong hand stops him, holds him firmly in place. He gasps, a sudden inhalation of air that catches in his throat and almost chokes him. His eyes flutter shut and tries to will himself away, somewhere that all too knowing eye can't see him and strip him bare.
“Don’t go,” Xander whispers, and Spike freezes. There’s no request in those words and no hint of the boy Spike remembers from long basement nights. Those are a man’s words, commanding and convincing. Spike shrugs slightly, trying to push the large hand off his chest.
Xander’s hand moves, but not off Spike’s body. His fingers splay out, brushing lightly against a nipple. Spike flinches, a swift quake of mingled excitement and fear. He wants it and he hates himself for wanting it. The soft touch becomes a tight pinch, and the burn pulls a quiet moan from his throat.
“I always wondered,” Xander murmurs idly, “why men had nipples. I know all the biological reasons, but it still seemed like such a useless piece of flesh.”
Another hand snakes across his chest, tugging restlessly at Spike’s other nipple. He arches upward, the pain satisfying some soul deep need. Punish me, hurt me, make me bleed for you, he begs silently. Pain is the only proof of love, its constancy his reassurance. A blow is as good as kiss, and oftentimes better.
Xander uses his nipples as handles, pulling Spike around until they lie face to face. Even in the deep gloom, Spike can see Xander clearly. One brown eye stares at him, large and luminous with…what? Passion, maybe or excitement. Being Anya’s one and only sex toy must have given Xander an ample education in the delicious line between pleasure and pain. It seems that he was an attentive student.
“I watch you,” Xander tells him, fingers scraping roughly over his pebbled nipples. “I watch you and the more I see, the more I want.”
Spike winces, his belly fluttering under the sensual onslaught. He wants to stop, he wants more, he wants to know why Xander wants him. After Buffy, every encounter leads to a game of Twenty Question. A susurrus of metal breaks Spike from his wandering and he pulls away, Xander’s nails biting into his tender flesh.
“Ah-ah,” Xander chides quietly. “Don’t move. You don’t want a cranky Slayer on your hands, right? Just lie still. If I’d known you were such a wiggle worm, I’d have tied you down.”
Spike bites his lip, holding back a desperate plea. The thought of ropes, or even chains, holding him fast, gives him a quick thrill. He’d asked Buffy for this, for the security of her bonds, and she’d refused him. She didn’t love him, not enough to keep him still and quiet, waiting for her. That it’s Xander who wants him like that confuses him, fever chills like an ice cream headache coursing down his spine and into his cock.
“Oh,” Xander breathes and the cold metal on his chest is like a balm, a wicked benediction. The second clamp digs into him, and Spike inhales quickly. As Xander’s tongue laves the sore skin, Spike groans, unable to stop himself.
“Beautiful,” Xander tells him. “You’d be beautiful, tied and waiting for me. Would you let me fuck you? Let me flog you, put pretty red marks on your back?”
Spike thrusts forward, hips snapping automatically at the thought of being lashed. Somewhere in his meager belongings is a picture of him hanging in chains, back striped and bleeding. One of the last times Angelus drew him and it was so bloody erotic, he almost comes, remembering it.
His thrusts push him into Xander, and the light touch sends a shockwave through both men. Xander growls low in his throat, a dark liquid sound that sends flares of heat through Spike’s body. Xander pull them together, their nude bodies colliding.
The sweet friction of that collision is lovely, cocks slipping and sliding on sweat and pre-cum. Xander maneuvers a hand between their bodies, pushing their dicks down until the tips are rubbing against one another. The obscene sucking and slapping noises ratchets up their desire, and Spike closes his eyes. He’s tense, frenzied, his body demanding release.
“That’s it,” Xander moans in his ear. “Let me see you. Want to watch you come for me, so hot, need to feel you, Spike. Wanna feel you come all over me.”
Xander’s voice, those sweet urgent demands, snaps the threads of Spike’s control. He gasps, his cock pulsing as streams of sticky fluid shoot from him body. Seconds later, Xander shudders beside him, and hot come splatters onto Spike’s stomach. The shudders and trembles of orgasm wash over them, leaving the two men sleepy and sated.
They drift off together, bodies pressed close. Just before sleep overtakes him, Spike hears Xander mumble, “Next time, ropes.” He smiles slightly and allows Xander to crush him closer. There was going to be a next time.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It's the stuff you don't see that counts. Three people, a Hellmouth, and what happens when you can't hold it together. And when you can...Post-Chosen/Post-NFA
A/N: Written for
southernbangel's "Anything But" Ficathon. This is part of a series, but can be read as a stand-alone. However, if you'd like to know what's happened before now...Previous Chapters
Spike stays still, trapped between Xander and Faith. The heat pouring off their bodies soaks into his skin and he shivers. He used to love being warm, the hotter the better. After Sunnydale, he isn't so comfortable with heat. What started with the amulet finished in that alleyway, and now he's damn near close to scrambling out of bed to find a place to cool off. The faint tang of sweat reminds him too much of charred flesh, the radiating warmth too close to a dragon's flame for comfort.
He tries to wriggle gently out Xander's embrace, but a strong hand stops him, holds him firmly in place. He gasps, a sudden inhalation of air that catches in his throat and almost chokes him. His eyes flutter shut and tries to will himself away, somewhere that all too knowing eye can't see him and strip him bare.
“Don’t go,” Xander whispers, and Spike freezes. There’s no request in those words and no hint of the boy Spike remembers from long basement nights. Those are a man’s words, commanding and convincing. Spike shrugs slightly, trying to push the large hand off his chest.
Xander’s hand moves, but not off Spike’s body. His fingers splay out, brushing lightly against a nipple. Spike flinches, a swift quake of mingled excitement and fear. He wants it and he hates himself for wanting it. The soft touch becomes a tight pinch, and the burn pulls a quiet moan from his throat.
“I always wondered,” Xander murmurs idly, “why men had nipples. I know all the biological reasons, but it still seemed like such a useless piece of flesh.”
Another hand snakes across his chest, tugging restlessly at Spike’s other nipple. He arches upward, the pain satisfying some soul deep need. Punish me, hurt me, make me bleed for you, he begs silently. Pain is the only proof of love, its constancy his reassurance. A blow is as good as kiss, and oftentimes better.
Xander uses his nipples as handles, pulling Spike around until they lie face to face. Even in the deep gloom, Spike can see Xander clearly. One brown eye stares at him, large and luminous with…what? Passion, maybe or excitement. Being Anya’s one and only sex toy must have given Xander an ample education in the delicious line between pleasure and pain. It seems that he was an attentive student.
“I watch you,” Xander tells him, fingers scraping roughly over his pebbled nipples. “I watch you and the more I see, the more I want.”
Spike winces, his belly fluttering under the sensual onslaught. He wants to stop, he wants more, he wants to know why Xander wants him. After Buffy, every encounter leads to a game of Twenty Question. A susurrus of metal breaks Spike from his wandering and he pulls away, Xander’s nails biting into his tender flesh.
“Ah-ah,” Xander chides quietly. “Don’t move. You don’t want a cranky Slayer on your hands, right? Just lie still. If I’d known you were such a wiggle worm, I’d have tied you down.”
Spike bites his lip, holding back a desperate plea. The thought of ropes, or even chains, holding him fast, gives him a quick thrill. He’d asked Buffy for this, for the security of her bonds, and she’d refused him. She didn’t love him, not enough to keep him still and quiet, waiting for her. That it’s Xander who wants him like that confuses him, fever chills like an ice cream headache coursing down his spine and into his cock.
“Oh,” Xander breathes and the cold metal on his chest is like a balm, a wicked benediction. The second clamp digs into him, and Spike inhales quickly. As Xander’s tongue laves the sore skin, Spike groans, unable to stop himself.
“Beautiful,” Xander tells him. “You’d be beautiful, tied and waiting for me. Would you let me fuck you? Let me flog you, put pretty red marks on your back?”
Spike thrusts forward, hips snapping automatically at the thought of being lashed. Somewhere in his meager belongings is a picture of him hanging in chains, back striped and bleeding. One of the last times Angelus drew him and it was so bloody erotic, he almost comes, remembering it.
His thrusts push him into Xander, and the light touch sends a shockwave through both men. Xander growls low in his throat, a dark liquid sound that sends flares of heat through Spike’s body. Xander pull them together, their nude bodies colliding.
The sweet friction of that collision is lovely, cocks slipping and sliding on sweat and pre-cum. Xander maneuvers a hand between their bodies, pushing their dicks down until the tips are rubbing against one another. The obscene sucking and slapping noises ratchets up their desire, and Spike closes his eyes. He’s tense, frenzied, his body demanding release.
“That’s it,” Xander moans in his ear. “Let me see you. Want to watch you come for me, so hot, need to feel you, Spike. Wanna feel you come all over me.”
Xander’s voice, those sweet urgent demands, snaps the threads of Spike’s control. He gasps, his cock pulsing as streams of sticky fluid shoot from him body. Seconds later, Xander shudders beside him, and hot come splatters onto Spike’s stomach. The shudders and trembles of orgasm wash over them, leaving the two men sleepy and sated.
They drift off together, bodies pressed close. Just before sleep overtakes him, Spike hears Xander mumble, “Next time, ropes.” He smiles slightly and allows Xander to crush him closer. There was going to be a next time.