Summary: There's nothing real here and that's okay, because Spike has gotten good at not being real.
A/N: Written for rounds_of_kink Round 4 prompt: Ats Spike/?, secret, prostitution kink
The footsteps behind him, the casual hand on the shoulder, these are signals. To anyone looking at them, they’re friendly signals. They’d see a bloke and his mate exchanging gestures in a noisy club, time to take off for the night stuff.
Spike knows better. No one else knows, but he does. He can’t remember the last time he had a friend, not even sure he remembers how friendship works. Goods for services, favor for favor, backs get scratched and everyone goes home satisfied. That’s how this works. There’s nothing friendly about it.
He’s well fed, well fortified with whiskey and it isn’t as if he doesn’t enjoy it. He does. It’s the before and after he hates, the subtle degradation of being owned. Kept. He’s bought and paid for every bloody night.
The walk is silent because they really aren’t friends. What would they talk about? In a few moments he’ll be on his knees and not much after, on his back. Small talk doesn’t suit them and what they do together isn’t up for conversation. There are words though, and as the door closes, the words catch up with them.
“Strip.” That’s always the same. He always takes off his own clothes because this isn’t a seduction. What follows is always different.
“Been thinking about this all day. How pretty you are naked, begging for a good fuck. You need to be fucked, don’t you? Pretty little whore like you needs it, like you need blood.”
Spike doesn’t answer. Xander’s drunk, mean drunk. When he’s sober, he’s nicer. Not softer, not considerate, but nicer. Spike almost understands. He spends most of his time pissed, trying to drown out his soul and the pain of being stuck in Angel’s shadow. Again. He should have known better. There’s no redemption for him.
Now, he’s Xander’s whore. A rent boy with no destiny and nowhere else to turn. The apartment that Lindsey wanker got for him didn’t come for free before and it’s doubly expensive now. He pays for it with his body and the little scraps of pride he’d salvaged from the wreckage of Sunnydale.
“Wanna touch you,” Xander breathes, unbuckling his belt. “Wanna feel.”
Spike knows just what Xander means. The dead feeling’s what eats you, keeps you out searching for something, anything. Sometimes when Xander touches him, it’s the only anchor he’s got to being real.
“Touch me,” Spike murmurs.
Xander strides across the room, pants open. Spike stares intently into the flat shine of Xander’s eye, enjoying the hand the closes around his throat. It doesn’t bother him to be touched like this. It’s nice, almost affectionate.
“What do you want, Spike?” Xander asks softly. “Want to suck me off? Do you jerk off, thinking about me, how I use you? Do you enjoy being my whore?”
“Yes,” Spike answers calmly. “All you Scoobies used me for something. Least this is honest.”
Xander’s fingers wrap tightly around his throat, pushing him down to the floor. Spike knows he could shake Xander off, toss him against the wall and drain him dry before the little moron could blink. He doesn’t. He sinks to the floor and opens his mouth, Xander’s cock resting on his lower lip. There’s power and then there’s power.
“Love that,” Xander breathes, staring down at him. “Love seeing you on your knees for me. How many cocks have you sucked, Spike? Did you do this for Angelus?”
Spike shakes his head. He never did this for Angelus. Angelus would have had him bent over and bloodied by now. Angelus knows power, knows how to keep it and how to wield it like a bloody truncheon. Spike never made him come. He just provided a body for Angelus to use.
He slides smoothly down Xander’s cock, fighting against his gag reflex as the blunt tip prods the back of his throat. Hands run through his hair, an oddly delicate caress so far removed from the cold reality of the situation that it irritates him. They aren’t friends, they aren’t lovers. Xander pays him for rough, dirty sex. No room at the inn for this blurring of boundaries and Spike shakes the hands away.
They don’t leave. Instead the hands move downwards to stroke his jaw, feather light touches of such delicacy that they almost aren’t real. Spike wraps his tongue around the bulbous head, suckling and teasing. They aren’t real. They can’t be real because if they were, it might break him. He’s gotten good at the not real, spotting it and ignoring it. It only took him a century, but he’s finally learned. Kindness is never real.
Xander pulls back, his cock easing out Spike’s mouth. Spike waits for hands to direct him and they do, pulling him upwards and leading him towards the bed. He lies back, letting his legs splay open. He’s hard, but he’s not particularly excited. Sometime between the first angry fuck and now, he’s lost excitement.
The kiss, sweet and probing, startles him. He struggles a bit, uncertain what’s happening. They don’t kiss. Kissing is for lovers, not for him. But Xander persists, his lips firm and almost…entreating. Spike’s tongue flickers out, twining with Xander’s, taking tiny tastes of the other man’s mouth. Xander tastes smoky, the whiskey overpowering everything else.
“Want you,” Xander tells him breathlessly. “Want this.”
Spike only stares at him fuzzily. He watches as Xander moves down his body, tongue and teeth gliding over his flesh. The first sharp bite on his nipples shocks him, sending a sharp jolt of arousal through him. He gasps and Xander smiles, moving to the other nipple and suckling it to a sharp peak.
When Xander nips at the head of his cock, Spike almost convulses in pained pleasure. He wasn’t expecting this, hasn’t felt this aroused since before he burnt to ashes in Sunnydale. His mind, sluggish and sleepy, seems to be incapable of processing the physical sensations.
“Xander,” Spike moans. “Gotta…Xander!”
Warms lips wrap around his cock, stealing his words. They flow from his brain straight down to his prick, dribbling out him on a slick trail of pre-come. Xander mumbles around the erection in his mouth, and Spike can’t even moan because the vibrations have him fighting for control. He feels good, better than he has in ages and he wants it to last.
It’s the rough slickness of Xander’s tongue on his sac that sends Spike over the edge. Sticky spurts of jizz land on his belly and Xander pushes into him roughly, only a bit of slick on his cock to ease the way. Feels marvelous, opened and filled and the first jab on his prostate has Spike yelling. He’s still coming, hasn’t stopped and Xander’s fucking him hard, fast, lips pressed to Spike’s to swallow his excited moans.
They lay there for a moment, bodies drained and minds blank, recovering. Xander’s softening inside him, slipping out inch by inch. Spike feels the thick sliminess oozing from his body, puddling on his stomach. He got fucked and it’s good, a nice mellow high that lets him float and drift.
Xander’s up now, looking down at the hand Spike is stroking him with, and he’s frowning. Spike pulls the hand away, ashamed of himself. There’s no cuddling or touching between them and he forgot. For a minute, he forgot what this is and what they do.
“I’ll pay you extra,” Xander says quietly. “I want to stay here tonight and sleep with you and I’ll pay you extra.”
Spike nods mutely. Isn’t the first time he’s been someone’s dirty secret, isn’t the first time he’s been used like this. Just the first time he’s been paid for it and if the money makes him numb, it’s an easy enough trade to make. When Xander whispers his demon girl’s name, Spike can ignore it. They aren’t lovers and it doesn’t hurt and none of it is real. They both lie there in the dark, not sleeping, waiting for something real.
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