Seriously NC-17. Probably not nice. I don't care.
Unbeta'd, of course. Do I ever beta anymore?
The best part was when Xander came home to find him already prepared: hard, dripping, slicked and naked, kneeling in the middle of the living room. Waiting. Willing, though Xander knew he’d never admit that except when he was desperate for Xander to let him come. Xander knew he wasn’t that creative, had habits and favorites and often repeated some things until there was nothing amusing or pleasing left in that particular act. After several weeks, Xander wasn’t interested in trying anything new anymore. He wanted what worked.
Spike didn’t complain. Spike never complained.
Sometimes Xander wanted something simple. A beer, some food, porn on the tv and a ready boy to play with when he felt like that. Sometimes he wanted conversation, Spike effortlessly becoming the snarky bastard he was outside these walls. Sometimes the insanity became too overwhelming, and it didn’t matter if Xander wanted it at all: he had a boy who was desperate and needy and had to be taken care of until he wasn’t.
Sometimes Xander wanted that, anyway.
“Stand,” he ordered. Shedding coat and keys and brief case as Spike obeyed, Xander stood before him. His hand traveled down an unmoving chest to cup Spike’s unbound cock and balls. “I feel stubble,” he said, shaking his head as if sad. “I thought I told you I didn’t want that anymore. You’re home all day, all by yourself. The least you can do is take care of what I ask you to.”
Spike had the chores he always took care of without complaint. Having a routine helped calm him when he was losing his grip, and it appeased the chafing soul. Oh, it knew that there was nothing healthy or equal about what he and Xander did. Spike had dropped enough hints about that. But it complained less when there was rationalization for it to cling to, and that gave Spike the freedom to at least be himself in his own mind. Xander’s home was always spotless, now, and whatever orders he came up with were always obeyed instantly.
Except when they weren’t. Sometimes, Spike went out of his way to provoke Xander. Today wasn’t one of those days, but the cock that throbbed against his forearm wasn’t objecting.
Fingering the smooth skin, Xander tugged on the sac sharply. “Don’t come,” he said. “Don’t come.”
Spike nodded, silent. He didn’t resist when Xander kissed him, although he did not kiss back. He just stood there, passively accepting it when Xander bit his chin and jaw hard enough to create red marks.
“On the bed.”
Spike immediately went into the bedroom. He knelt on the bed, balancing his weight on his fists and wide-spread knees. Each muscle was tensed for Xander’s visual enjoyment, the hard cock and shaven sac hanging exposed. Xander did not watch him, instead grabbing a beer from the kitchen first. Only then did he enter the bedroom.
A dribble of beer was poured down Spike’s spine, adding a hint of salt when Xander caught it him his mouth at small of Spikes’ back. “Mm. Was that cold, Spike?”
Spike didn’t respond. His head was down, shoulders standing out in stark relief against his back. Once, Xander had rested a magazine there and told Spike not to let it fall. It had been hours before Xander kicked the bed hard enough to force it off.
When Xander had drunk half his beer that way, the wetness now staining the bumps and knobs of Spike’s spine as well as his ass, only then did Xander stop. Spike hated being wet. Have him brave the elements for a reason, and he’d not care. Leave him wet in air conditioning, however, and it was as torturous to him as cold weather was to humans. Possibly worse, as Spike had no real way to warm himself back up.
Standing beside the bed, Xander stroked Spike’s lowered head. His fingers looked dark and wide against white-blond curls that twined around him as if not to let go. He scratched lightly at Spike’s scalp as he stroked, knowing that Spike enjoyed that. It was soothing for Xander as well, something he suspected Spike knew but would not comment on. He just accepted it, not even angling his head towards Xander’s touch, the way Xander knew he wanted to.
Still petting, although now more clumsily, Xander took advantage of his greater height to begin stroking Spike’s exposed perineum and hanging sac as well. Spike’s body trembled under this dual touch, cock now so hard that it was flush with his unmoving belly and dripping onto Xander’s comforter.
“Messy,” he said, calm and clipped. “Not only are you messy with yourself, you’re messy with what’s mine. Can you spot the problem there, Spike?”
Not waiting for a response, Xander stopped stroking and instead landed a sharp slap on Spike’s arse. Spike jerked, muscles rippling through his body before he forced himself back to the same exact position.
“There’s a problem with what I just said,” Xander told him, smacking again. And then a third and forth time. He was no longer petting Spike’s head, only occasionally remembering to lightly scratch his nails over Spike’s scalp. The move wasn’t designed to hurt, just provide ... counter point. “What was it, Spike?”
Spike remained silent as one slap turned into two, and then three, and then more. Xander, however, did not remain silent. All the troubles of his day came pouring out as he turned Spike ass and thighs red. He ranted, acid bitter, before it turned into a choked laugh that held no humor in it. Spike was rocked back and forth with the force of each blow, never making a sound as Xander spanked him until his own hand burned.
Abruptly, Xander stopped. Trying to control his breathing, he climbed onto ‘Spike’s side of the bed and tucked his hands behind his head. “That’s better,” he said, sighing as the adrenaline faded to more tolerable levels. He’d probably punish Spike later, too, he decided. But not yet. “Thank me properly.”
Trembling, Spike crawled over to Xander, settling between his spread out legs. Deft, surprisingly gentle hands undid Xander’s trousers, allowing his hard cock to spring free—into Spike’s waiting mouth. He bobbed up and down a few times, slicking Xander’s cock and encouraging it to become full hard, if it wasn’t already. At some unknown cue, Spike let the cock slip free from his lips to straddle Xander’s hips.
Reaching behind him to position Xander, Spike sat down very slowly. He gasped halfway down, jaw clenched with passion as he waited for his body to adjust. It was like this every time. Xander didn’t know if Spike dissembled because he knew Xander liked it or if the discomfort was real. Didn’t care.
“I was talking with Chris, on site, today.” Spike had taken him fully now, resting his skin shaved perfectly clear and smooth against Xander’s wiry curls. It wasn’t painful, but Xander liked the feel of soft skin against him. Liked the thought of Spike’s irritation. “He’s always wanted to try out a skinny little white boy like you. He’d have you call him papi, he said, slide into you sweet just like I do.”
Xander wondered if Spike thought he was lying. He wasn’t. Chris really had said all that, him and the rest of the crew familiar with Xander’s live in fuck. Of course, Chris had said ‘girl’, when describing the pretty white ass he’d like to tap, and Xander’s reaction had been less than appreciative. But Spike didn’t have to know all that. All he had to do was swallow just like that, nervous and pretending he wasn’t, his thighs tensing as he began to raise and lower himself on Xander’s cock.
“He’d pay, he said,” Xander told Spike conversationally. His breathing was starting to accelerate, the words not quite as firm, but Spike wouldn’t notice. Spike got worked up faster than he did. “A hundred bucks for an hour with you. I could use the money, Spike. He’d pay for more than hour, too, he said. He said he wanted me to watch. Wanted me to get off on another man fucking your pretty mouth. On you coming around another man’s cock. He said he’d teach you to beg for me. To tell me how much you craved my cock in your sweet ass, your mouth, come staining your skin.”
He’d learned how to do this for Anya, but they hadn’t ever worked out the problems—such as Xander flushing bright red and Anya laughing. There were no problems, here. The words just pulled out of him, the way he knew they’d pull out of Spike if their positions were ever reversed.
They wouldn’t be.
Xander controlled his breathing and his level of enjoyment, watching as Spike bounced over him. “Would you like that, Spike? Let me whore your ass out to construction workers that hadn’t showered the sweat off of them? Would you like it as I jerked myself off, another man making you call him papi, telling him how good you’ll be if he just fucks you a little bit harder.”
Spike moaned. The sound was broken, almost sobbed, and aching for release.
“Don’t come.” Xander let Spike ride him for a while, occasionally talking about how he really needed the money. How pretty Spike would be as Xander’s whore. Perhaps even dressed up as a girl? Oh, that one went over well, Spike’s cock jumping in response—although whether in revulsion or an untapped kink Xander didn’t know. “Is that what you want?” he crooned, now thrusting up into Spike’s body and panting. “Want to dress up, pretend you’re my little girl, instead of my whore of a little boy?”
Groaning, Spike finally met Xander’s eyes. The emotions burning there should’ve frightened Xander—they didn’t. He knew Spike would never strike out at him, never hurt him in any way. That was the bargain.
Abruptly, Xander grabbed Spike’s hips. Twisting, Spike somehow managed to get his legs above Xander’s shoulders even as Xander pushed him roughly onto the mattress. “Say it,” he whispered as he fucked, the tempo hard enough to rattle the headboard despite the muffling insulation placed there. “Say you want it.”
Spike choked, cock leaking onto their bellies as he took every thrust and arched up for more. Wordless sounds escaped his clenched teeth—erotic, yes, and appealing. But not what Xander wanted.
Gripping Spike’s hair, he yanked his head back and bit on Spike’s jugular. “Say it.”
Spike howled out something that contained the word ‘boy’ and ‘whore’. Anything else was indistinguishable. Xander didn’t mind. Grinning savagely, he bit down again, harder, still yanking at Spike’s hair. He fucked Spike that way for a few more thrusts before finally coming deeply within Spike’s body.
Spike cock was throbbing with need, so far past blue balls by now that the pain had probably become constant. He’d not come in at least four days, while Xander fucked him two or more times a night. And often the mornings, as well. He could take it, though—Xander was certain of that, no matter how Spike whimpered underneath him, hips arching up in silent request.
Rolling his eyes, Xander slipped free and back-handed Spike’s ass. “I said don’t come,” he repeated, watching as the impressions of his knuckles flared for a moment, before fading into the bright red color. “I want an answer from you, Spike. Would you fight if I brought Chris over? Had a few beers and watched the game while you sucked us both off?”
Spike’s hips twitched upward and he inhaled sharply.
It was all the answer Xander needed.
“Good boy,” he crooned, rubbing Spike’s ass and leaning up to bite at his nipple. “Very good boy. I think I’ll let you jack off tonight. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Xander palmed Spike’s cock, rubbing his thumb along the side as Spike struggled not to come. “You’d come wherever and whenever I told you, sell your mouth and that pretty red cock of yours for beer money for me, and you’ll love every second of it.”
Spike choked back his whimper of agreement. Then, surprisingly, said, “Will you?”
Xander grinned and began biting his way from one nipple to the other. “That’s my choice. Isn’t it.”