By Girl With Journal
Response to Slashficathon challenge by vixkitten: Spike and Riley, fucking, in Buffy's basement.
But this time itís not death heís playing with. No, this is something far more deadly, far more...forbidden. But just like the other, it goes straight through him, lightning bold and bright, forcing life into his stilled heart before sending all that newly pumping blood straight to his cock.
A cold, white hand reaches around and closes on his rigid member. Begins to fist it, roughly. The mouth thatís been sucking insistently on the curve of his throat moves up to his ear. Whispers there: "Is this how she touches you? Does she pump you hard? Does she," and the hand changes pace, "stroke you gentle? What would she think," says the voice in his ear, sugar-coated, acid-dipped, "if she knew about this?"
The thought is almost enough to make him go soft, but then the fire inside him changes shape, blossoms into something new. Parts of him he never knew existed are coming alive, awakening at the touch, and his desire flares anew. He bucks backward, driving the intruding force deeper. A hand moves up to steady his shoulder; the other flicks a finger over the head of his cock, teasing the slit. He moans.
"Yeah, thatís right," says the voice in his ear. "Wouldnít like that, would she? Just imagine her coming down those steps and finding us here, her mortal enemy with his cock up her boyfriendís arse, and him squirming and begging for more. Yeah, can just see it now. Her pretty little face pinching up and turning red. Her tiny little fists clenching into tight balls of rage. Can you see it?"
He can see it, all right; in spite of himself, he can see it plain as day. Her sweet, strong face - the face of the woman he loves - filling with shock, filling with anger. He can see it, and part of him - part of him wants it.
To his vast humiliation, this doesnít go unnoticed. His cock, if itís possible, grows even harder, and the voice in his ear laughs and laughs. "Not so whitebread after all, are you?" it says. "Got some kink in you." It punctuates that statement with an emphatic thrust, hard and deep against that spot, and he comes, white spunk shooting out against Buffyís basement wall.
Horror settles on Riley like only the weight of a vampire - a male vampire - pressed against oneís naked back can. He tries to pull away, but Spike holds him tightly by his hip and by his still dripping cock, holds him while he thrusts one, two, three more times before spilling himself deep inside Rileyís ass. Riley recoils, repelled by the situation, and by the fact that it still feels so good.
"So," Spike says, slipping out of him with the same feline grace apparent in his every move, "was this what you wanted?"
Riley does the only thing he can think of, the only thing that seems appropriate in the situation, and punches him.
Itís a hard punch, direct to the face, and Spikeís bare ass hits the basement floor with a smacking of skin against concrete. The vampireís nose begins to bleed, a trail of crimson marring that perfect white skin, and Spike brushes it away with his hand and laughs. Itís a horrible sound, one that Riley wants to choke right out of him, but good little Iowa farm boy that he is, Riley canít quite stomach the thought of killing someone he just had sex with.
Oh god oh god oh god.
"Youíre disgusting!" he growls. "Get out!"
More laughter, as Spike sweeps effortlessly to his feet. "Changed your mind, have you?" He begins to circle, and Riley, naked and sticky with come, suddenly finds it very hard to remember that Spike is chipped, that Spike is harmless.
"And after you wanted it so bad, too," Spike says, coming to a halt behind Riley and resting a hand lightly on his bare back. Before he can jerk away, electricity jolts through him, attaining new, near-deadly levels as the vampire lowers his lips to Rileyís jugular and breathes the words right into his pulse-point. "Wanted to taste the darkness, didnít you? Wanted it the second you saw me here, encroaching on your territory. Tell me, was it to your liking?"
"No!" Riley wants to shout, but the word sticks in his throat, painfully held back by the touch of Spikeís mouth there, wet and greedy and full of words he hates, but wants wants needs to hear.
"I could bite you," it says. "If you wanted me to. Could sink my teeth right in, drink you up. Own you. Possess you. Is that what you want?"
He remembers what itís like with that cheap piece of vampire trash from the bar: the pure physical joy of her teeth in his veins, but also the feeling that his very essence is sustaining her, keeping her just outside the realm of death. He knows that with Spike, that feeling would be magnified times a thousand, for the life, built on stolen blood, that lives in Spike is that much brighter than the pitiful excuse for an existence inhabited by the skinny vamp girl with the dirty hair. And he knows, too, knows now first hand that Spike can give physical pleasure with an expertise born of a centuryís study and passion for the subject. But still he hesitates.
The vampire seems to sense this. He raises his head, and fixes Riley with a gaze of blue fire. "And I would need you," Spike says, his whole being burning with intensity. "Would need you to live, to rise each night. Would need you more than she ever could."
And Riley doesnít know what he hates most: Spikeís gall for saying it, or his own knowledge that itís true. But he pushes the hatred aside at the feel of Spikeís mouth on his neck. The vampire has shifted into game face, his fangs poised and ready and waiting. "Tell me what you want," Spike says, golden eyes shining. "Tell me. Iím not going to ask you again."
"I want..." Riley says, thinking of his mother, Forrest, Buffy - all now betrayed in different ways. Thinks of the need in the vamp girlís eyes, and says, with final, relieved understanding, "I want you to bite me."
A look of triumph spreads across red lips, lips drawn tight against sharp fangs. Still smiling, the vampire lowers his mouth to Rileyís throat and gives him a quick, light kiss.
"Sorry," Spike says, looking up at Riley in a way thatís really looking down. "Lost my appetite."