By Annie Sewell-Jennings
"Oh, come on! Untie me! This is ridiculous, I'm not gonna hurt you! These ropes are itchy and this chair is uncomfortable. Got a fucking spring poking me right in the ass! I swear it, Harris, if it weren't for this sodding chip, I'd rip your throat out and eat your esophagus...."
Was it really necessary? Wasn't there some way that Buffy could've let everybody but Spike have their voices back? The Gentlemen didn't seem like such bad guys. Sure, there was the whole thing with the cutting-out of hearts, but they'd been snappy dressers. And at least they were quiet. But Spike?
He doesn't know the meaning of the word.
"I mean it, you know! Fine, don't take me seriously, just because old Spike's not up with the killing nowadays. But you'd better believe I'm gonna get this blasted thing out of my head, and when I do, I'm gonna remember that you kept me tied up to a bloody recliner for hours on end and...."
Two hours. Two hours of this. It's impossible. Xander tries to turn the television up louder. He'd put on MTV in the hopes that shiny videos and pretty boobies might somehow distract Spike from his current mission of complete and total irritation, but Spike just won't shut up. Not even when The Real World came on.
Anya's already come and gone. It's extremely difficult to try and score with your girlfriend when there's a running commentary in the background. Don't touch the tits, boy. Ah! Saw your hand! Don't do it... don't do it... ha! Again! After Anya had slapped Spike around for a couple of moments, to Xander's immense pleasure, she'd then stalked out on her too-high heels and said that his blowjob could wait another night.
Great. So now not only is he annoyed, he's horny and annoyed.
There are more sounds coming from Spike's vicinity. More struggling. More grunting and snarling. If he spits on Xander's floor one more time, Xander is going to mop it up with Spike's stupid, annoying face. Three times was plenty, thank you very much.
"Come on, Harris!" Oo, a note of desperation. Spike's changing his tactics. "I was up and about over at the Watcher's, didn't hurt a thing, not even your little trollop. Let you smack me around and everything, and I didn't lift a bloody finger!"
Yeah, Xander thinks wistfully. Those were good times.
"So give me one good reason why you won't untie me!"
Finally, Xander turns his head away from the television set and in Spike's direction. His fists are all balled up, and he's straining against the ropes with a glare on his face. Just looking at Spike is enough to make Xander rethink the whole let's-not-stake-Spike policy.
"Oh, the ropes?" Xander asks innocently. "That's not about restraining you. You can't hurt me. You're all impotent."
"Yup," Xander says cheerfully. "Impotent. You can't hurt a hair on my head without getting zapped by the chip of poetic justice. Kind of makes me feel better about paying taxes. But hey, that's beside the point. It's not for protection. Nope, this is about principle."
At this point, he's given up the thought of having a good night's sleep, or a nice roll in the sack with Anya, or even a nice date with the sock puppet of love in the bathroom. Even the television is ruined. So hey -- if he's going to have to put up with Spike annoying him all night, he might as well annoy him right back.
And the best part?
It's actually working.
Spike's pissed. His fingers are flexing, and he's got that look on his face that says he's all ready to kill. "Principle," he spits. "You're keeping me tied up to this disgusting chair because of some fucked-up sense of principle? What about me? I haven't had a cigarette in four goddamn hours!"
"Oh, I'm sorry! Were you under the impression that I cared about you?" Xander rolls his eyes and starts flipping channels. "There is not a chance in hell I'm letting you out of those ropes. Whine and bitch all you want. I don't care. I'm not scared of you."
And then, something amazing happens: Spike shuts up.
Oh, it's glorious. Absolutely wonderful. Just the sound of the dripping water pipes and the blare of the television set. Happily, Xander closes his eyes. He won. He fucking won! Score, Team Harris!
And the crowd goes wild as a victorious Mad Dog Harris crushes his opponent, the Bleached Blunder, into the ground! And there's blood everywhere and money rains from the sky and oh, sweet victory! Sweet, sweet victory!
"So. That's the way you want to play it."
Slowly, Xander opens his eyes and turns his head to the side. The look on Spike's face isn't a good one. It's a dangerous one. That's the smirk right there. The one he gets when he's up to no good, which naturally means Spike smirks a lot. But it doesn't ever fail to impress.
Spike cocks his head at him. "Won't let me get up and walk around," he says. "Won't let me have a smoke. Won't let me do anything but sit here and stew in this stupid chair, right?"
Suddenly, the smirk gets darker. A little more... wicked. This isn't the I'm a very bad man look. This is the I'm a very bad man and you like it look. His hand slowly, almost lazily moves off the arm of the chair and dangerously close to Spike's lap. It's like time freezes. Xander can't stop staring as Spike slowly, effortlessly brings his hand to his crotch and strokes.
The smirk is now officially lethal. "Well, that suits me just fine," Spike purrs. "Just fine indeed."
Instantly, Xander begins to panic.
He wouldn't. Would he? Who am I kidding? Of course he would! He's Spike! He'd do anything! He eats babies! Oh my God, he's not serious. He's just dicking with me. Dicking! Gah! No! Bad word! Stop! Bad mental picture, bad mental picture!
Horrified, Xander jumps to his feet and points a shaking finger in Spike's direction. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me! No way! No way are you going to really do that!"
Spike just arches his eyebrow at him and gives him a look that might be considered innocent if it were on someone else's face. "Oh, I'm not?" he says silkily. When did Spike start talking like this? What the hell is going on here? "Got nothing better to do. Bored out of my skull over here, I am, and it's been such a long time since I've had anyone."
"Spike! God, that's disgusting! You can't be serious!"
A hint of tongue between the teeth. The patented Spike sneer, but... different. A little slower. A little more honeyed. Still predatory, oh yeah, but in a less-than-murderous way. "Oh, I'm dead serious, Harris. What, you think I'm afraid of having a wank in front of you? Please. Won't be my first time, won't be my last."
Xander pauses and frowns. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
That sly grin that says that Spike knows what all sorts of different things mean. "Oh, and I suppose you thought me and Angelus were just good friends."
What? What the hell? Spike and Angel were... oh, wow... they were all with the....
Spike's thumb is sliding over the seam of his zipper. Up and down. Up and down. Why is he watching this? Why is he looking at this? Why is he listening to any of this? Quickly, Xander raises a hand to cover his eyes. "Stop that! Spike!"
"Mmm, keep saying my name, you stud."
Goddammit! Why him? Why do things like this happen to him, Xander Harris? Why couldn't this have happened while Spike was chained up in Giles' bathroom? But no, nooo, this could only happen now. Here, in Xander's cellar.
No. No way. This is not going to happen. He is going to stop this. He's going to untie him, and...
And then he'll lose. And Spike will have won. And he'll be an asshole about it and he'll probably take the opportunity to try and jack off on Xander's bed, and there is no chance in hell Xander's going to let that happen. No. He has the power now. He's the one in control.
But when Spike makes a little, soft noise in the back of his throat and arches his hips in the chair, Xander wonders who's really in charge.
He can't stop looking. Can't stop watching. It's all little movements; the ropes bound around his chest will only let his forearms loose. But it's still loose enough for this. For these little, slower-than-molasses strokes of his thumb against the straining bulge in his jeans. And oh, boy, but those jeans are tight and that bulge is big.
Suddenly, Xander forgets how to breathe.
Spike's making noises. Strange, deep noises that sound kind of like growls. Shifting his hips around and squirming in his seat. His eyes are right on Xander. The smirk never falters. "You know," he says, "you could just untie me. Wouldn't have to watch then...."
Xander feels a little weak. A little warm. His mouth is dry and hot, and Spike's toying with the buttons of his fly while one black-tipped finger snakes between his legs to stroke his balls through the denim. Oh, God. And the first button pops open, and....
Oh, no. Not now. Not this. Anything but this.
But blood is much more stubborn than brains.
He can feel it. That pulse under his skin. The quick rush of heat in his groin, and the twitch of his cock. Feels himself getting hard already, swelling and rising in his sweatpants. Everything feels dizzy and hot, and his heart is racing as he watches Spike bite down on his lower lip and smile with pleasure.
This is very, very bad now.
"Stop it," Xander says. His voice comes out shakier than he'd like it to be.
Spike's voice is rich and creamy. Dark like brown sugar. "Untie me."
God help him, but Xander couldn't untie him even if he wanted to.
Not while Spike is doing this.
And because Spike is one of the biggest bastards ever to roam the face of the earth, he knows it. He gives Xander that famous shit-eating grin and wriggles around some more. Xander desperately wishes that Spike would stop moving around. It's something about the way Spike moves, like every little action is deliberate and effortless all at once, that makes Xander's skin crawl in a way that's far, far too appealing.
Oh my God. Spike is going to jack off in front of me, and it's turning me on.
Another button, and then another, and then another. The wicked arch of Spike's eyebrow. "Why, Xander," he murmurs, "I thought you'd have untied me by now, being that you're all macho and straighter than yuppies. Maybe you're enjoying this. Maybe you like the thought of me tossing off right here before your very eyes."
The terrible thing is that Spike is right. Even though it's horrible and wrong and dirty and Very, Very Bad, Xander cannot look away. His heart is pounding. His cock's so hard that if he doesn't touch it soon, he's going to die. There's a slow, steady ache throbbing under his skin. Everything in his body wants this, even though his brain is screaming against it.
Another button, and Xander barely bites back a moan. Darker-than-whiskey hair running in a thin, fine line down the flat of Spike's belly. Oh, God, he wants to do bad things to that thin trail of deep blond. Wants to lick it.
Bad! Bad body! This is wrong! This is vampire, vampire with a penis! Think of boobies! Boobies! Naked chicks!
"So that's it," he purrs malevolently. "You want a taste. Could do that for you, you know. If you untied me. And it'd be good. Better than anything you've ever had before, that's for certain."
Xander wouldn't doubt that. Spike probably knows all sorts of terrible things. After all, he's been around for a hundred-odd years, and he spent most of that time with a crazy vampire and, apparently, Angelus. He could probably write an entire book on fucking, and the look on Spike's face backs up Xander's very wrong train of thought.
"Oh, yeah," Spike says, his fingers reaching up to stroke that fine strip of skin showing between the edge of his tee shirt and the waistband of his jeans. "See, you've never had nothing like me before, Harris. Got your demon girl, yeah, but she can't move the way I can. Got all these limber muscles, I do. Could bend and turn and twist to your heart's content."
Spike twists a little in the chair, raising the hem of his tee shirt and showing off his flat stomach. God, there's not an ounce of fat on this guy. He's all lean and hard, sinuous and oh, wow, those muscles can move. Spike starts drawing little circles around his navel with one hand, the other hand undoing the rest of the buttons on his fly, and Xander can't help it. It escapes him. Everything escapes him.
So hard. He's so hard. God, he's going to explode in his pants soon, everything throbbing, and he feels dizzy. Like the world he knows is just getting whisked away by Spike and his evil, nasty movements. Goodbye, Anya. Not thinking of you right now. And goodbye, morality and sense of self. This is all about Spike now.
Xander can't take his eyes off him.
And then the last button is undone, and Spike reaches inside his pants and releases his erection. Xander gasps at the sight of it, long and hard, and thick. So dark with blood, and Spike's uncut, the foreskin peeled away from the purple head. Dark blond curls around it, and the hint of tight, hard balls. "Spike... please...." he whispers. He's down to begging right now.
Spike, being the shithead he really is, only chuckles as he slides his palm along the length of his cock. "Come over here and untie me," he purrs. "Show you the time of your life, if you do. You've never had it as good as me, and you know it, don't you, Xander? Kiss you so hard you'd forget about breathing. And me, I don't have to. Could kiss you for hours, if you liked."
God, that mouth. How did he not notice Spike's mouth before? Silky lips, all pink and moist. Pretty, like a girl's mouth. He bets he kisses so soft. What would it be like to kiss him? Just a kiss. No one would ever have to know....
The tip of Spike's tongue peeks out between those sweet lips, and that smirk makes his hips arch in spite of himself. "You're shameless," Xander croaks. "Absolutely shameless... bribing me... oh, God...."
"Go on, Harris. Keep talking. Love it when they talk to me. Give me all your dirty words. I'll be your whore if you want it that way. Call me your bitch, call me your da, I don't care."
His fingers are itching. Begging to untie the knots that hold Spike back, just so that he could kiss him. Just so he could touch him. Have his hands all over him, and at this point, Xander would willingly sit at Spike's feet if he'd just touch him. Little gasps are falling from his lips, and even though Xander hates himself, his hand is moving towards his lap.
"Could do this for you," Spike continues, his hand closing around his cock. One long, heavy stroke from base to tip. "Toss you off. Look at my hands, Harris. Don't you want them? Want my hands on your prick, want my fingers in your ass. Bet that's your dirty little secret, ain't that right? Always wanted someone to lick you right there."
"I hate you," Xander moans. "I hate you so fucking much."
"Good. Hate me. Hate me and fuck me harder."
He's got his fingers on it now. God, oh God, he's so hard. And Spike's stroking himself, arching his hips and gasping for unnecessary air. Why does he have to look so human when he does this? Why does he have to look so good?
"Gonna come soon," Spike sighs, his pale fingers reaching down to touch his balls. "Oh, yeah, gonna come. And so are you, aren't you, you pillock? Can see your hands on yourself. You're all hard and heavy for me, you stupid git, and you want it so bad. I can tell."
"Arrogant," Xander gasps. He's practically doubled over with the force of his erection. "Arrogant fucking asshole."
"Oh, yeah, you bitch. Talk dirty to me."
Oh, he'll talk dirty to him. Real dirty. He'll tell him he's worthless, tell him he's a mistake, tell him he's an abomination. A monster, nothing, a piece of shit. He'll tell him that he's not going to do anything for him, because Spike is not worth his time, and he'll be right back on the old high horse again.
It's really a shame that he doesn't have any control of the English language at this point.
They're arching together now, moving in perfect synchrony, as Spike's hand becomes just a blur around his dick and Xander's hand slips into his sweatpants, gasping as he finally makes contact with his aching erection. "So hard," Spike gasps. "So hard, I am, and I want you, Harris. Untie me. Untie me so I can fuck you."
He's almost dying. He thinks this is what it feels like to die. But he can't, he can't do that. If he does, then things will go too far and he'll never be the same. He can already feel a part of him dying, and he thinks that might be the part of him that's sane.
Because if this isn't insanity, then Xander doesn't know what is.
"Please, Harris. Please."
Startled, Xander turns his head to look at him. Spike is staring at him, his eyes so blue and full of need that it almost takes his breath away. Begging him. He's begging now. Squirming inside of his restraints, his dick so hard, and the tip is glistening with precum. Suddenly, Xander sees something he's never seen in Spike before.
"I need you," Spike whispers raggedly. "Please, Xander. Just untie me."
"I can't," Xander rasps back. "If I do, you're going to... oh, God, I can't...."
"Then kiss me. Just a kiss. Lick my palm. Touch me, do something, help me. Help me."
If I do this, there's no going back.
Oh, hell. I crossed that line a long, long time ago.
He almost stumbles over himself as he makes his way across the room, and then Spike's mouth is on his and Xander is in heaven. Oh, God, he was right, there is no one on earth who can kiss like this. There's nothing held back. Anger, desperation, need, desire, hatred, love, so much love, and it's all teeth and sweet lips, and--
And then there's nothing.
They come almost at the same time, so close that it's hard to tell who went when. But Xander's gasping and moaning, arching his hips as he spills his load. His hand is all tangled up in Spike's short hair, and it's so soft. How is it so soft?
Oh, fuck it. It's useless to try and understand anything at this point.
When he's done, Spike bites Xander's lower lip. Not hard, no. Just a nip. But oh, God, it sends shivers down his spine.
Oh, no, what have I done?
Terrified, Xander opens his eyes and sees Spike smirking at him. Blue eyes all smug with satisfaction. "Well, look at you," he drawls. "Kissing men and coming all over my jeans. Now you have to untie me so I can clean up."
Outrage suddenly floods Spike's eyes. "What do you mean, 'no'? Brought you off nice and proper, I did. Better than that skinny little bird would've done, I guarantee."
But Xander just turns his back and walks towards the bed. His legs are shaking, and his knees are weak. He thinks he feels a little crazy right now. A little less than stable. "Nope," he says, and he hopes his voice isn't trembling. "Not going to do it."
"Why the hell not?" Spike yells, and Xander climbs in the bed and gives Spike a look just before he turns out the light.
"Because I won."
It doesn't matter that he just kissed him. Doesn't matter that he just watched Spike get himself off in his basement, or that in some weird-ass way, Spike just got him off. Nope, none of that matters right now. Because Xander won. Spike's still tied up. He won.
I want to touch him right now. I want to run my hands down his chest. I bet he has really sexy nipples. Can guys have sexy nipples? I bet Spike does. And then I want to kiss him some more, and I want to lick his neck, and oh, fuck, his cheekbones....
As he feels himself getting hard again, a silky, cocky laugh floats to his ears.
"Yeah. But at what price, Harris?"
The question keeps him up all night long.