Pairing: Spike/surprise, Riley
Rating: Adult
Summary: Riley had no doubt that if he just followed the hostile, hung back, stayed down wind and kept quiet, he would be fine.
Spoilers/Warnings: Set season 5 BtVS. No warnings, not the happiest fic in the world though.
Disclaimer: Not mine, wish they were, well except for Riley, cause ew *shudder*, you can keep him.
Written for nekid numbers at [info]nekid_spike – Riley, Skull, Woods/Forest. Kinda missed the Halloween mark though.

The Moon and the Truth


Although there were gathering clouds, the moon still shone brightly enough that Riley could see. Even so, he stepped carefully, trying to make sure his boots didn’t crunch the gravel and loose sticks under his feet. He’d followed the hostile into Breaker’s Woods, ignoring every piece of protocol he’d ever learned, and gone in, unarmed and with no backup.

Not your average hostile; it was bottle blond, wore a long leather coat and walked with a swagger that told Riley it had way too much attitude. By his reasoning, if he followed it, it may well lead him to its lair and yet more hostiles. At this stage, the program could do with a new intake.

Riley had no doubt that if he just followed the hostile, hung back, stayed down wind and kept quiet, he would be fine. So far, he’d tracked this thing from the bar across town, through the streets, and out to the woods. It was by pure chance he’d seen its monstrous face as it came out of the bar, nodded to someone still inside and lit a cigarette, then turned and headed out of the town.

It appeared to heading for a specific destination; every now and then, it would stop, scent the air, tilt its head and listen, then move on. Each time it stopped, Riley held his breath, willing his heart not to pound quite so hard. He was far enough back, though, that he knew he would be fine. The moonlight lit up this thing’s hair like a beacon, made it easy to track.

Another half hour or so, and it finally came to a stop. There was a clearing of sorts, a felled tree in the middle, some boulders, and the hostile sat on one of these, and pulled out a hip flask, taking a long drink. It looked at a watch, peered around into the trees, and seemed to be frowning and tapping its foot impatiently.

Riley checked the wind direction, looked for a darker patch of night to hide in and settled down to wait. Soon, he didn’t need to worry about cover, a cloud bank passed in front of the moon, darkening the area significantly. Still he could make out the hostile by its almost luminous hair, but no longer could he distinguish facial features and expressions.

It was only a matter of minutes before a figure appeared from the opposite side of the clearing. Another man or maybe another hostile, reasonably bulky, maybe young, maybe not, it was hard to tell in the dark from a distance. He was carrying something and passed it to the hostile, who lifted it. A bottle. It drank, then passed it back.

Riley couldn’t hear what they were saying, both were speaking in low tones, except for the occasional laugh. Not a laugh between friends. No, one was an embarrassed, awkward sound, the other definitely mocking.

At the derisive laugh, the second man made to leave but was roughly pulled back by the hostile’s grip on his arm. Riley couldn’t see well enough to get a look at the man’s face, his body was blocked from view by the hostile and the lack of light.

There was a brief scuffle, then the man pushed himself back and took another swig at the bottle. More deep, rumbling conversation, then the hostile was taking long, slow steps towards the man, shucking its long coat as it went. Like a wildcat, crossed Riley’s mind, as he watched the hostile’s drawn out progress. Why wasn’t the man running? Unless he was a hostile as well. No way to tell. He may have had that hideous face too, but Riley just couldn’t see. He decided to wait it out. At least, eventually, he may be able to I.D the other guy and if it was a hostile, then well and good, another for the program. If it was a human, then Riley would have to consult Professor Walsh. There had to be approved ways of dealing with hostile sympathisers.

Slowly it walked, no, stalked, that’s what it was doing, definitely stalking. Riley heard a low laugh from the other man; not uncomfortable anymore apparently. The hostile took him by the neck and flung him face down over the largest boulder. The bottle slipped from the man’s hand and clinked softly against the ground.

Something about the way the man fell, the easy way the hostile had thrown him, told Riley that this was a human. He forced himself not to intervene. He knew that without his weapons, he would be as good as dead against the hostile. There was also the issue that this other person was obviously there willingly. No two ways about that, the laughing began again before the bottle even hit the ground.

The hostile stepped aside, partially revealing the man on the rock. Jaw clenched in revulsion, Riley saw the man lever himself back up again, undo his pants and push them down to his knees. While the man was arranging himself again, the hostile had picked up the bottle, and drained half of it.

Riley could not believe what he was seeing. The hostile was unbuckling its jeans, shoving them down the smallest amount and was positioning itself behind the other man. No, this wasn’t happening. What kind of human would let himself be used like this? To be touched by a monster? Riley had heard rumours, of places where people went and let the hostiles bite them. But he knew that was just an Initiative urban myth. Nobody would be sick enough to do that.

Perhaps he was wrong though, because right before his eyes, this hostile was taking a stab at a human, and judging by the sound of it, the man wasn’t complaining one bit. It was like a car crash. Riley knew he shouldn’t be looking but he couldn’t move his eyes away. He watched in sickened fascination as the hostile pounded into the other man, their grunts and moans carried across the clearing to him. Riley covered his ears to block the worst of the sounds. It didn’t help much.

Bile rose in his throat and he spat silently on the ground. Animal. Riley had to make sure it didn’t touch another human like this again. Once he’d tracked this thing to its den, lair, whatever, he would come back alone, but armed to the teeth and kill it; capture program be damned. He knew how these things were destroyed. Flame-throwers, machete to the neck. But Riley would take great pleasure in crushing this one’s skull into the ground first.

The sounds coming from the clearing were becoming more frantic, louder. The hostile leaned forward, grabbed the man by the hair and pulled him almost upright. Riley knew what was coming. The hostile tilted its head, its hips still pummelling the man in front. Why wasn’t he struggling? Why wasn’t he fighting it off?

The man was chanting something, his voice getting stronger. Riley took his hands off his ears, and knew that if the man was pleading and begging for the creature to stop, then he would have no option but to run in and help. The man’s words were breathless, panted, but as they got louder, they became clearer. Riley fought to hold down the acid in his stomach as he heard the words shouted clear as a bell.

“Do it! Fuck, just do it. Bite me.”

God, no. Under cover of the man’s screams and the hostile’s howls, Riley crouched and moved around the clearing, staying well behind the tree line. He had to know for sure. Maybe he hadn’t heard right. But, no. That voice. Riley heard it every day. In his own home, in his military-issue ear pieces. He knew it well.


Riley’s brain was a fog. This was Graham. Under the hostile, begging to be bitten. Being fucked by a subterrestrial. Screaming for it. Riley was paralysed.

Before him, the scene in the clearing was lit up as the clouds separated and the moonlight bathed the woods. Graham and the hostile were readjusting their clothes. Graham took another drink from the bottle before it was snatched away. The hostile tipped an imaginary hat and stalked off the way it had come, leaving Graham wiping at his neck and buckling his belt.

Riley knew he should follow, find where the thing lived and finish it. But as he watched his friend stumbling drunkenly from the clearing, he knew his plans had changed. Graham, he would deal with later. Professor Walsh didn’t need to know about this.

But now, terminating the hostile was no longer an option. Tomorrow, he would arm his team, Graham included, and they would hunt until they had that thing. They would take it back to the cells and let the scientists mete out the punishment it deserved.

Chip it.

The End

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