“You done then?”
A laser-like glare cut across to the smirking vampire. Spike wondered if the boy was going to pass out or explode or something. Nearly five minutes and still that body-blush hadn’t faded—although it was starting to look nearly purple instead of the nice, delicious red from before. Spike decided not to mention how tasty the flushed skin looked. If that furiously beating heart pumped any harder, blood was going to start leaking from Xander’s ears.
He wondered what Xander tasted like.
“I hate you,” came the harsh response.
Spike rolled his eyes. “Right, then. You go on doing that cleaning thing, I’m gonna see what’s about. Maybe find some compliant slave girls.” He leered suggestively, hoping to entice Xander into coming with him.
He didn’t think about why he wanted Xander with him. Or why he hoped they wouldn’t find any compliant slave girls.
“Slave girls?” That did the trick, some of that dusky hue fading back to the normal California tan—although one part that remained suffused with blood. Loincloths covered next to nothing, although Xander didn’t seem to realize that. Yet. Spike was waiting for the perfect time to tell him.
Yes, he was evil, ta much.
The vaguely anticipatory look turned suspicious. “Why do you want slave girls?” Xander asked, folding his arms across his chest. Spike stifled a giggle—the boy looked utterly ridiculous, clad in blue silk, a hardon, and a glare. “All you need to do is wait for ‘Ali’ to make another appearance and—er, right. Slave girls.”
Look, more blushing.
Absurdly long eyelashes swept against red cheeks and Spike wondered why he was embarrassed this time. It wasn’t like either of them were enjoying the whole insane role-playing they’d been forced into.
A bit of white was slowly drying on the corner of the boy’s mouth.
Er. Okay, it wasn’t like they were consciously enjoying it.
Spike shook off his introspection and headed toward the waving gauzy curtains that they thought indicated a door. The room smelled of sex and Xander’s sweat; he needed a distraction if he was going to stay by something that poured out pheromones and blood-scent. Otherwise that Arab guy might come back—and Spike wasn’t convinced just how much of a top the other personality really was, despite the current evidence. He also wasn’t interested in finding out. Particularly when that discovery could come with him already on his back, legs in the air.
Granted, Xander did have a very nice—
“Gah!” Shaking his body like a wet dog, Spike purposefully headed for the doorway. “You wanna stay here, fine. I’m gone.”
“What? Spike? Spike! Hey, wait up!” There was no way, no possible way that he was turned on by the sound of bare feet slapping against the marble—marble?—floor. None.
Spike started to think about Darla.
“Hey, slow down.” He felt a scalding wave of bodyheat before the actual touch of skin on his. “Spike!” The hand clasped his shoulder, jerking him back slightly. Oh, how it burned. He hadn’t been able to properly appreciate that roasting warmth when the other personality had been in control. Now that he could. . . He stopped more out of pleasant surprise than the tugging of Xander’s hand on his shoulder.
“You are not leaving me here,” Xander said with that desperate firmness the boy used sometimes. The whole ‘no more butt-monkey’ thing Dawn had told him about one afternoon when she’d played hooky in his crypt. The rendition—filtered through Buffy’s retelling—was eerily accurate now. “I may hate you, but you are not leaving me here by myself while you go off and—do something.”
“Something? Oh, save me from the devastating Harris wit. You get the cheerleader to teach you that one?”
Spike had a fraction of a second to curse before rich laughter poured out of his own throat. “My precious Ali,” he said huskily, pushing the boy up against the nearest silk wall hanging. He was such a pretty, pretty boy. “So soon? I thought we would go and look at the gardens first.”
“Where you have the—Spike, let go of me right now.”
Spike glanced down to see his own hand wrapped around two silk-covered cocks, pressed together and pointing at his chin. “Er, right. Sorry.”
He opened his hand, taking a nervous step back. He was very horny now, and the intoxicating hot-blood-and-pheromones scent wasn’t helping.
He thought of Darla and then Darla with Angelus. Still didn’t help.
Swallowing convulsively, he took another step back and turned to study their surroundings. A hallway, also lined in silk, conveniently muffling the sunlight so that it looked bright but no rays ever touched the areas they walked in. Marble floors, tiled walls, panting, gasping, horny boy still braced where Spike—no, the Arab—had pushed him.
“So, exploring?” Xander asked. The boy’s voice sounded strained and nearly entirely falsetto. Spike ignored the shiver that voice produced. This was all the product of some weird spell that the little blonde Wicca had put together. Some absolutely ridiculous kind of thanks. Spike was contemplating his own ‘thanks’ whenever they got back.
He was not attracted to Xander.
“Right. Exploring.” They moved down the hallway, both with the stiff, my-legs-have-no-blood walk of men with persistent erections that would not go away no matter what. Spike spared a brief moment of sympathy for the human—as a vampire, the pain didn’t bother him much, even made him enjoy it a bit more. The human, however, had to be hurting badly at this point.
Except Spike didn’t care about that. Because he was the Big Bad and the Big Bad ate humans. He certainly didn’t contemplate doing them. . . favors.
They passed several rooms—bedrooms, mostly—all empty, although still lushly furnished, with the stale feeling that meant they hadn’t been used in a while. After nearly twenty minutes, Xander motioned for them to halt.
“Okay. So far, as explorers we suck. Er, I mean, not that, ah—where are all the people?” He sounded scared under the blustering attempt at humor. “Are there people? I mean, the creepy guy who takes over you indicated there were but. . . are we the only ones here?”
Spike inhaled deeply. Arousal, from himself and the boy, their own scents below it, faint hints of flowers and. . . there we go, people. “Yeah. There were some—not long ago, too. Want me to track ’em?” And why was he asking the human for direction?
Xander blinked, a grin flickering across his face. “You can do that? Track through scent? Like—” Spike caught the tremor and jerked his head around to glare at Xander angrily. Another grin appeared, then vanished; brown eyes began bouncing.
“Like that! Like a dog!” Howling in his own imitation of one, Xander collapsed against the wall, convulsing with laughter. Spike crossed his arms and stared, refusing to say or do anything. He was a vampire. Of course he could track people; they were his food!
Snarling at the idiocy of human boys, Spike stalked after the trailing scent of people.
“Wait, Spike—I’m sorry.” Gasping and red-faced, the boy held out a hand while he wiped at tearing eyes. “Hang on, okay? Sorry. I don’t—hey, wait a minute.” The grin became impossibly bigger. “Why am I apologizing to you?”
“Because you’re a tosser.” He could be mature. He could. When he wanted.
Warm arms slid around his waist, pulling the unresponsive—no, he was not pouting—vampire into a snug embrace. “Master,” was purred into his ear. “Forgive your humble servant, Master.”
“I am Wa’il Nu’man, Master Vampire and Sultan of Heraz. I am death in darkness, justice in sunlight. I am the hunter who never misses, the guard who never rests. I do not growl like a common mongrel!”
“Of course not, Master.” But dark eyes continued to dance with suppressed laughter.
Growling, he picked up his nearly giggling slave and carried him to the nearby garden. It was just barely dark, an echoing hint of sunlight painting the horizon pink, but certainly dark enough to allow him complete mobility. Tossing the still-laughing boy onto a waiting bed of soft, sweet grasses, Nu’man pounced.
Licking, sucking, tickling, and most of all nipping, Nu’man tormented his younger lover until the boy lost all laughter and could do no more than groan under the assault. Writhing under a cool mouth, unable to retaliate with his hands held fast above his head, he moaned and shrieked his need to the silent garden. Not even birds disturbed their pleasure.
“A dog, Ali?” he whispered while he continued his torture. “To sit and pant at your feet? To come with a word, a gesture, instantly obedient?” He released Ali’s wrists, unsurprised when they remained exactly where they were, as if chains bound them. “Oh, Ali, I think you have your roles reversed.” One hand pinched at distended nipples while the now-free left hand burrowed into the silken covering and pushed it to one side. “Is that not correct?”
He sucked the head of Ali’s cock into his mouth.
Ali arched, screamed, and then hissed his answering, “Yessss,” only after he’d come back down to earth. “Please, Master!”
Nu’man chuckled around his twitching mouthful, briefly sliding his mouth all the way down before releasing Ali entirely. Reaching out towards a nearby bottle, he thumbed off the wax sealant and dribbled a large amount down Ali’s erection.
“Rose syrup, my pet. I remember how much you liked it last time.” Erection coated, Nu’man dabbled some on his own body and settled above the human’s face. “Now, if you please.”
Oh, how talented was his Ali! Trained to know just how Nu’man liked to be opened and lavished, responsive to the least of Nu’man’s reactions. He occasionally added more rose syrup to his body—he loved to hear Ali gasp with pleasure at the sweet, almost sickly taste. When Ali began to buck against thin air, however, he lifted himself and turned around.
“Don’t move,” he ordered. Heat spread through him as sank down, spreading throughout his cold, dead body until he felt almost human again. Heat, fullness, the sharp, skittering pleasure as his prostate was slowly rubbed. . .
Ali was panting, almost hyperventilating as Nu’man slowly lifted back up until only the very tip was inside—and then equally slowly came back down. There were advantages to having preternaturally strong muscles, making the awkward, unbalanced movements easier to achieve. Up and down he slid, angled so that his prostate was under constant pressure. It felt very good, but rather like a light massage. Nice, but not enough.
For him, anyway.
For Ali, it was the purest torture.
“It has been weeks since I saw you, Ali,” he said conversationally as he rode at this snail’s pace. “Have you done as I asked?”
Nu’man grinned. “Very good, my pet. Such a well-trained boy. Denying yourself all physical pleasure for the past three weeks.”
Ali was reduced to mindless keening as he forced his body to remain perfectly still while his master used him.
“You are a treasure, my lovely Ali.” He rose all the way up again. “A beautiful treasure.”
Spike slammed back down.
“Master,” Ali begged, long past rational thought as he was still denied. “Please, Master. Please.”
Spike blinked at the whimpering, shivering boy below him, mind racing as he tried to figure out what had happened. He was himself, Spike, again. But Xander was still Ali and. . .
And he was riding Xander.
“I bloody well knew it,” he muttered, rocking a little just to get the now-continuous begging to stop. Eventually Ali’s—Xander’s—the boy’s words tumbled back into the wordless kenning as he strove to hold back his orgasm. “I knew the poof was a bottom. Dammit, why am I the one who always ends up with a cock in his arse?!”
A nicely-sized, incredibly hard cock that was rubbing him in exactly the right places. Also attached to a body that desperately needed to orgasm.
“Whatever.” He glanced down to the unseeing boy. “You bloody owe me for this, bricklayer. Hear that? You owe me.”
Threat pronounced, Spike nodded and leaned forward to brace himself on the ground. “Harris—er, Ali?” Lust-dazed eyes forced their way open to meet his. “Pull me off, eh?”
Warm hands encircled him, tugging exactly the way he preferred—hard up, soft down, with little twists here and there—and he began to move. No more of this teasing shit. He wanted to get off. Whoever was in control of the body he rode knew exactly what to do, matching the rhythm he set so that the combined pressure of warm hands on his outside and a warm cock on his inside sent his cold blood boiling.
Xander—Ali—whoever was babbling again, promising mind and body to Master Wa’il. His soul, his heart were already given, but anything, everything was Master’s so long as he was permitted to come!
Spike sped up, slamming himself up and down, groaning and panting due to what was turning out to be incredibly good sex. The boy was moving, now, just enough to push up when Spike came down, angling his hips so that at that last second his prostate was almost viciously jabbed, the right amount of pain and pleasure humming through his body.
“Gonna come,” he gasped, surprised at how quickly he was getting off on this. He felt his body freeze, clamping down impossibly hard while the boy’s hand moved at light-speed up and down—
He arched back, scream locked in his throat as he shot four times in quick succession onto the human’s chest. Strong fingers milked him, prolonging the feeling until it was nearly pain. Slumping forward, he gasped against sweaty skin.
Damn, had that been good.
“Well, pet,” he began, halting when he realized.
The cock inside his now-relaxed body was still hard, still desperate, held almost impossibly still by a human concentrating solely on not coming—no matter how much pain it caused him.
If he didn’t come soon, the boy really was going to explode.
“Shit, wasn’t it good? Was good for—oh. Right. Xa—I mean, Ali. Ali, look at me.” Eyelids fluttered, but only white showed. “What the hell should I—oh. Ali, come.”
“Fuck. You cannot die—t’Slayer will kick my arse! Come already, dammit! Fuckin’—will you just bloody well finish!”
Hands grabbed his hips, flipping him over so quickly that he didn’t have time to protest. Those same hands—when the hell did the boy get so strong?—held him down as hips worked with frantic speed.
Spike got hard again.
“Come on,” he whispered, spreading his thighs for a better angle. “Come for me. That’s it, boy, come for me. Come for Spike.” He was going to have grass burns on his arse from the power of the boy’s thrusts. Spike was grateful that this Nu’man obviously knew his stuff—it was soft grass at least.
“Come for me,” he said again. “Come on, Ali. Come for Spike. Fill me up, make me warm inside.” He braced himself on the ground, freeing a hand on to begin jacking himself. “Fuck—mm, boy, you cannot die, you hear me? Fucking cum before you bloody explode! Come on, Xander, come—Xander?” The thrusts faltered, just a little, and Spike could feel the balls slapping against him start to rise. “You name is what does it?” Spike didn’t stop to analyze why, not when he knew he was going to have bruises with the burns.
Not when the shuddering, hyperventilating boy was so close to seizuring instead of orgasming.
“Right, then. Whatever. Xander! Xander, come now!” Once, twice, three times more Xander pumped before throwing his head back and howling his release. Spike jerked as the first warm burst of cum entered him, spreading that delicious heat even further through his body. More and more poured in even as the boy shook and jerked. And then he was yelling himself, chanting the boy’s name over and over as he came again and again—
Spike woke up on his back, with his legs in the air. Well, not really in the air. His heels were resting on Xander’s arse, but his knees were up high to accommodate the heavy body that lay on him. But still. On his back, legs in the air, with Xander bloody Harris sticking his cock up his arse.
“I knew it,” he muttered peevishly.
This kind of stuff never happened to Angelus. He got souled, yeah, but not bloody humiliated. Even Dru may’ve hung about the lesser end of the demonic gene pool, but she was still with demons. This was just. . .
“We just had sex.”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
“Oh. Okay. Can I sleep now?”
Spike thought about moving. He thought about how since he didn’t have to breathe, the solid weight on him wasn’t bothersome. He thought about how warm it was. Soft. Almost comforting. Xander wiggled a little while Spike thought, pulling out, and then snuggled in close. Warm breath bathed the vampire’s neck.
“Yeah, pet.” One arm slipped around a well-muscled back. “We can sleep now.”
Spike would later categorically deny that he held on just as tightly as Xander did.