sevendeadlyfun (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sevendeadlyfun) wrote2008-07-15 09:40 pm
sevendeadlyfun) wrote2008-07-15 09:40 pm
Entry tags:
Mind's Eye
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Summary: So when Xander Harris comes calling, all he can do is think of what it would be like to be owned by this lapdog of a man.
A/N: Set in S6 and based off the episode "Dead Things", with bits of dialog from the episode appearing in the beginning. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kink_bingo prompt-bondage (wrist restraints).
“Do you even like me?” he asks her.
He schools his face to blankness. He’s genuinely curious, but there’s more to it than that and she’s no fool. She knows how he feels and why he’s asking.
“Sometimes,” she murmurs and he can almost hear the wheels turning in her head.
She looks over at him, her pretty eyes screaming ‘love me’ and the long, lean lines of her shoulders promising him a few more drops of pain. He wonders what she means by sometimes, wonders how far she’ll let him take her.
“But you like what I do to you,” he replies, voice equally soft.
She looks away. She won’t look at him when they fuck, either. She keeps her eyes closed and sometimes he thinks she pretends he’s someone else. Is that why she runs away afterwards? She opens her eyes and the wrong vampire’s staring back at her.
“Do you trust me,” he asks and the cuffs dangle provocatively off his fingers.
“Never,” she tells him, no hesitation and no ambivalence.
Whatever he is to her, and while he’s reckless and dangerous he’s no fool either, he isn’t hers. And she never has been his. He thinks maybe she can’t belong to anyone. Not his blasted Sire or the tragically simple soldier boy or anyone; she belongs to herself.
But he needs to belong, needs to be taken in hand and owned. He feels safe in cuffs. He misses being bound and used, knowing that for that moment he is utterly and completely desired. So when Xander Harris comes calling, all he can do is think of what it would be like to be owned by this lapdog of a man.
~*~*~
He can’t shake the fantasy. Every time he sees Harris, his cock gets hard. Watching him manhandle his bints, throwing an arm around them or offer them a friendly shoulder, is frustrating. Not because he needs a good cry but those strong arms should be pressing his face down and gripping his hips.
Sweet Christ, he thinks he’s losing his mind. Xander bloody Harris? The butt of every Scooby joke fucking William the Bloody; even in his head it sounds ludicrous. Him fantasizing about Tweedle-Dumber is like Swift writing for a girlie mag.
But he just. Can’t. Stop.
~*~*~
His prick aches when he thinks about it, which is often. It always starts the same way. Harris storms into his crypt, throwing him against the wall.
It’s gotta start like this because he can’t just give in. He’s a bloody vampire, not some lovesick chit. But, Xander knows how to hurt him, how to manipulate his body. The chip restrains him, forces him to give in. It’s an honorable surrender and that’s all he’s asking for.
Even with the chip, he fights back. Ends up flat on his back, writhing in pain for his trouble and he is trouble. Xander knows it. The chip only keeps him from hurting Xander, doesn’t keep him from escaping. The last thing he sees is Harris’ meaty fist and his world goes black.
~*~*~
His hips rock forward, a liquid roll that pushes his cock into his fist. He needs to hurt, needs to fuck, needs something beyond Buffy’s pain and pretenses. She’ll knock him down but she won’t keep him there. He can’t find his place in this mad fucking world where vampires have souls and little girls can bleed out the world’s destruction.
When he comes to, he’s cuffed and bleeding. He sniffs inquisitively, wondering if Xander’s bleeding for him. All his. Despite the pain, he smiles. Let the games begin, yeah?
“Gotta tie me up to get your end away, Harris? Pathetic,” he snarls.
Xander doesn’t speak. Spike nods because he doesn’t really give a toss about words right now. Man-sized hands roll him onto his belly and it’s been too long since he’s been fucked like this.
The gel is cold but he’s grateful for a bit of slick. Pain’s one thing but a dry fuck goes beyond harmless pain. And when his body’s finally forced open by what feels like a battering ram, he whimpers. Harris chuckles, an appreciative hand stroking the length of Spike’s body. Under those casually possessive touches, Spike’s hips cant in desire.
The hard, fast fuck rattles his teeth and blanks his mind. He can only feel those big hands owning him, pushing his face down and bruising his hips. Harris grunts, a thick noise that travels down Spike’s spine to settle in his cock.
He comes, a silent orgasm that sprays over his own hand to dribble back down across his belly.
There’s no truth in his fantasies. Even if Harris ever did become a shirt-lifter, he’s not likely to be the dark and disturbed bastard of Spike’s fantasy. A short, bitter laugh flies from Spike’s lips.
“What’s so funny?”
“Only my entire bloody existence,” Spike answers automatically. The voice registers a second after he speaks and he sits up.
It’s Xander. Holding up a pair of Buffy’s knickers and looking furious. Spike sneers, rising to his feet. He stretches leisurely, his nudity making the simple act almost obscene. As he catches a glimpse of Xander’s hands balling into fists, Spike struggles to tamp down his excitement. As the first punch lands, he wonders idly if he’ll be able to find the cuffs in all the mess.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: So when Xander Harris comes calling, all he can do is think of what it would be like to be owned by this lapdog of a man.
A/N: Set in S6 and based off the episode "Dead Things", with bits of dialog from the episode appearing in the beginning. Written for
kink_bingo prompt-bondage (wrist restraints).“Do you even like me?” he asks her.
He schools his face to blankness. He’s genuinely curious, but there’s more to it than that and she’s no fool. She knows how he feels and why he’s asking.
“Sometimes,” she murmurs and he can almost hear the wheels turning in her head.
She looks over at him, her pretty eyes screaming ‘love me’ and the long, lean lines of her shoulders promising him a few more drops of pain. He wonders what she means by sometimes, wonders how far she’ll let him take her.
“But you like what I do to you,” he replies, voice equally soft.
She looks away. She won’t look at him when they fuck, either. She keeps her eyes closed and sometimes he thinks she pretends he’s someone else. Is that why she runs away afterwards? She opens her eyes and the wrong vampire’s staring back at her.
“Do you trust me,” he asks and the cuffs dangle provocatively off his fingers.
“Never,” she tells him, no hesitation and no ambivalence.
Whatever he is to her, and while he’s reckless and dangerous he’s no fool either, he isn’t hers. And she never has been his. He thinks maybe she can’t belong to anyone. Not his blasted Sire or the tragically simple soldier boy or anyone; she belongs to herself.
But he needs to belong, needs to be taken in hand and owned. He feels safe in cuffs. He misses being bound and used, knowing that for that moment he is utterly and completely desired. So when Xander Harris comes calling, all he can do is think of what it would be like to be owned by this lapdog of a man.
~*~*~
He can’t shake the fantasy. Every time he sees Harris, his cock gets hard. Watching him manhandle his bints, throwing an arm around them or offer them a friendly shoulder, is frustrating. Not because he needs a good cry but those strong arms should be pressing his face down and gripping his hips.
Sweet Christ, he thinks he’s losing his mind. Xander bloody Harris? The butt of every Scooby joke fucking William the Bloody; even in his head it sounds ludicrous. Him fantasizing about Tweedle-Dumber is like Swift writing for a girlie mag.
But he just. Can’t. Stop.
~*~*~
His prick aches when he thinks about it, which is often. It always starts the same way. Harris storms into his crypt, throwing him against the wall.
It’s gotta start like this because he can’t just give in. He’s a bloody vampire, not some lovesick chit. But, Xander knows how to hurt him, how to manipulate his body. The chip restrains him, forces him to give in. It’s an honorable surrender and that’s all he’s asking for.
Even with the chip, he fights back. Ends up flat on his back, writhing in pain for his trouble and he is trouble. Xander knows it. The chip only keeps him from hurting Xander, doesn’t keep him from escaping. The last thing he sees is Harris’ meaty fist and his world goes black.
~*~*~
His hips rock forward, a liquid roll that pushes his cock into his fist. He needs to hurt, needs to fuck, needs something beyond Buffy’s pain and pretenses. She’ll knock him down but she won’t keep him there. He can’t find his place in this mad fucking world where vampires have souls and little girls can bleed out the world’s destruction.
When he comes to, he’s cuffed and bleeding. He sniffs inquisitively, wondering if Xander’s bleeding for him. All his. Despite the pain, he smiles. Let the games begin, yeah?
“Gotta tie me up to get your end away, Harris? Pathetic,” he snarls.
Xander doesn’t speak. Spike nods because he doesn’t really give a toss about words right now. Man-sized hands roll him onto his belly and it’s been too long since he’s been fucked like this.
The gel is cold but he’s grateful for a bit of slick. Pain’s one thing but a dry fuck goes beyond harmless pain. And when his body’s finally forced open by what feels like a battering ram, he whimpers. Harris chuckles, an appreciative hand stroking the length of Spike’s body. Under those casually possessive touches, Spike’s hips cant in desire.
The hard, fast fuck rattles his teeth and blanks his mind. He can only feel those big hands owning him, pushing his face down and bruising his hips. Harris grunts, a thick noise that travels down Spike’s spine to settle in his cock.
He comes, a silent orgasm that sprays over his own hand to dribble back down across his belly.
There’s no truth in his fantasies. Even if Harris ever did become a shirt-lifter, he’s not likely to be the dark and disturbed bastard of Spike’s fantasy. A short, bitter laugh flies from Spike’s lips.
“What’s so funny?”
“Only my entire bloody existence,” Spike answers automatically. The voice registers a second after he speaks and he sits up.
It’s Xander. Holding up a pair of Buffy’s knickers and looking furious. Spike sneers, rising to his feet. He stretches leisurely, his nudity making the simple act almost obscene. As he catches a glimpse of Xander’s hands balling into fists, Spike struggles to tamp down his excitement. As the first punch lands, he wonders idly if he’ll be able to find the cuffs in all the mess.
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Gabrielle
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Wow! That was bone deep dark. Seriously.
Extremely canon realistic, and I'd like to read a sequel, just to see if Xander takes it as far as Spike is hoping he will, or if he just stops with a bashing.
And again...wow!
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That this leads to dark fantasies about Xander worked, and I enjoyed how Xander unwittingly bursts in on the tail end of one of Spike's sexual fantasies. About him. That last paragraph was vivid and speaks to Spike's need for dominance and violence. Even he realizes Xander wouldn't fulfill his fantasy, but he still holds out hope. Poor Spike, he keeps going after the wrong person.
Thanks for this terrific, dark read.
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*Mwah*
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"The hard, fast fuck rattles his teeth and blanks his mind"
made my eyes water!! XD!
Loved it! =)
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