Playing to Win
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male › Spike(William)/Xander
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
3,986
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male › Spike(William)/Xander
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
3,986
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Name of the Game
The Name of the Game
Disclaimers and summary: see chapter 1
Feedback: Like air, like food, like Spike... :)
A/N: This chapter contains graphic sex with some semi-noncon and bd themes so read at your own risk as I'm not the best judge at what might offend others; also, this is a Spander fic, but I fully explore the strange and passionate connection that Spike and Buffy have; it's the journey folks *veg*
Was there anything greater than everything… “Everything,” she had said. Indeed, everything was flying through Spike’s brain at that moment, well it was until he was flying through the air and slamming up against what felt like a metal cage.
He shifted and fell to the floor, but before he could protest a very hot, lust-possessed slayer was on him. He could feel the wooden slates of the floor through his shirt and the grit embed itself into his hair. Buffy was like an animal, tearing at his mouth with her teeth while she writhed against him. She reached up and pinned his hands to the floor above him, relishing the feel of the dust clinging to everything – it felt so deliciously dirty she couldn’t help but moan.
Spike took advantage of her moan to capture her tongue between his teeth and suck on it playfully. He grabbed her hands and reversed the hold, struggling to pin them down to her sides. He finally succeeded when he threateningly bit down a little bit harder on her tongue in a game of domination. He won long enough to capture her hands tightly behind her back while she screamed in frustration.
Keeping her hands tightly bound in his, he manoeuvred himself behind her, grinding into her ass and delighting in her gasps of fear-induced lust. He switched his grip so that one of his hands was free, praying that she didn’t get loose in the meantime, so that hand could reach under Buffy and tug roughly on her bare nipples.
”Oh, now, little kitty,” Spike teased at the way she was hissing at him, “I can feel how tight and hard your tits are for me.”
”I bet you’re all wet for me too,” he continued, erotically.
”Maybe thinthinking of somebody else,” Buffy said cruelly.
”Maybe I am too,” Spike begun cryptically, “but, I’m,” he punctuated him statement with a hard thrust of his cock against her still covered ass, “the only one here right now.”
”I’m the only one here right now, Anya,” Xander pleaded in frustration, “isn’t that enough?”
While initially turned on by her amazing inventiveness in the bedroom, and kitchen… and bathroom… and various public places (including some rather disturbing memories of an ice cream truck that may or may not be real), Xander was just fed up.
”But, Xander, I just want to try something new,” Anya cajoled, “our sex is great, but it is getting a tiny bit boring.”
”Although,” she continued, in a sultry voice, “I know something not so little, that I bet wants it… deep down.”
She gave his crotch a playful rub.
Xander shifted uncomfortably; his body had gotten too used to responding to her. But, he had been making a point – if he could only remember what that was exactly.
”Anya, honey, are you really that unhappy with what we have?” Xander asked, trying to ignore the part of his brain that was stuck in “have sex with pretty girl” mode… in other words, pretty much all of it.
Anya continued, ignoring words that did not have to do with what she was doing – silly words that had nothing to do with having orgasms.
”Anya,” Xander said patiently, as she had muttered those last words aloud, “not everything is about orgasms… and why do I suddenly feel like you should dress me in an apron and call me Sally now that I’ve said that?”
He suddenly caught her speculative glance.
”Never mind,” he said, curtly cutting off her incipient agreement.
”Oh honey, I love it when you’re forceful – can we play “taming of the shrew” again; it’s an oldie but a goody!” Anya exclaimed in an excruciatingly chipper voice.
”You like it when I’m forceful, don’t you love,” Spike asked in a voice of honey covered stingers.
He had Buffy pinned up against the side of the elevator wall, still on her knees, with her legs pried open and her back arched in such a way as to give a chiropractor nightmares. And he was right; she loved it. She loved the way the rough slats of the lift’s walls rubbed her bare nipples raw as he pounded her up against it with every brutal thrust. She loved the way she could feel every inch of him fill her in a way that bordered on painful. She loved the way he had her head pulled to the side by the tight and punishing grip on her hair, exposing her neck in a submissive pose. And she loved how he was talking to her, making her forget everything but the dirt and the shame and the pleasure and him.
”So sweet and hot and wet you are,” he murmured in her ear, “You know, I think I could stay in here forever, keep you bent over, taking you over and over, however and whenever I want…”
Amazingly Buffy was even more turned on; images of her tied up, bound up to his mercy aroused her even further. woulwould have been ashamed of just how much if her mind could get beyond, “fucking Spike good”.
”Yeah, that’s right, my pretty little bitch, squeeze me tight,” he moaned harshly, “ah yeah, always knew you could be a right little slut if you just got the right demon between your knees,” Spike crowed jubilantly as Buffy quivered around him while she begged him to stop, to never stop.
”Spike, you evil bastard,” Buffy ground out when he pulled back to tease her, rubbing his cock lightly around her opening and her clit, “just fuck me, fuck me hard!”
”What was that love?” Spike asked innocently, lightly probing and rubbing her ass in ever maddening slow circles until she thought she would combust from the agony of it.
”Fuck. Me.”
”As you wish,” Spike agreed as he started to slide in somewhere that Buffy really didn’t remember being in the manual.
”Ow, ow, ow!” she yelped, rather unsexily, as she was spread wide open, stretching and possibly tearing as her body tried to adjust to the unfamiliar and unexpected invasion.
Luckily, she had enough lubrication from before, coating her from front to back and dripping down her thighs, to sponsor a gay porn convention.
”Hush, sweet,” Spike admonished, sweetly cajoling, “Just relax and let it come in.”
She tried to obey, but she was too distracted by the conflict between the lovely things he was doing to her clit and the really big and even more distracting excruciating pain that was burning through her in ways she didn’t even know could hurt. And somewhere in the midst of it all, a low, deep-down spark was forming, building up to something, something unexpected.
Spike, meanwhile, was doing all he could not to come right then and there. The little mewling sounds of pain and pleasure she was making were driving him almost as crazy as her impossible tightness gripping him like a vice.
Suddenly, that spark exploded in Buffy, rushing through her body with all the power of a back draft; she bucked back against him so hard that he fell onto his back. She followed, impaling herself again with a painful grunt from the gravity as Spike thrust harshly two, three more times before coming in great gasping gulps.
Buffy threw herself against the opposite wall, wide-eyed at what had just happened. All the sudden, there was a clanking noise as the old service elevator started to move. She had accidentally nudged the switch in her desperate attempt to flee to the other side of the cage and to denial. However, denial and everything else was forgotten as haunting and seductive sounds of a cello filtered up through the burned out factory. A disturbingly familiar voice rose out of the music…
”Spike, you always know just what’s in my heart… blood and lust… and destruction.” Drusilla
Drusilla was dancing, swaying to music that for once was not only in her head, as she lovingly caressed the wooden boxes being brought in to her. Spike was right next to her, watching her float around the room, smiling indulgently when she complained about the roses being the wrong colour. Yet, Spike was still in the cage with Buffy looking on the scene with a mixture and horror and pure longing.
”Now that was unexpected,” Spike said, as the scene faded from view, the music lingering sickly for a few bars before it too lapsed into silence.
”Now that was unexpected,” Xander commented to himself morosely.
He was standing in the middle of his bedroom in his shiny new apartment that Spike had just helped him move into a mere 5 days ago. The bed that he had envisioned much sex and yes, damn it, cuddling, with Anya, was unmade, with clothes strewn all over it. And he was alone. Anya had finally given up and left. What was funny is that she didn’t argue, didn’t yell, just got very quiet, looked at him with shining eyes and a quivering lip, and turned and walked out the door. She then knocked on the door frantically when she realised she had forgotten her purse, but the exit was valid nevertheless.
Xander thought back to where it all went wrong, and he was sure it was somewhere in between the words “Spike” and “couldn’t you act like a human for once and not an orgy-crazed demon?” Yeah, he could probably pin it down to that, or possibly the “if you would just get your head out of your ass and Spike’s penis up it”. Even now he had to chuckle at Anya’s way with words; she didn’t just speak them, she wielded them as some sort of blunt instrument. That chuckle turned into a half-hearted sob as he stalked into the bathroom, turned the shower on hot and slammed the door shut. He felt the water cascade down on him like hot absolution, and he murmured a name.
”Dru,” Spike murmured her name like a prayer to a dark, forgotten god.
”Spike!” Buffy hissed in his ear, “What did you do?”
She was peering through the slats of the old freight elevator that had shuddered to a halt, precariously balanced between floors and between times.
”I didn’t do anything, well not about this anyway,” his suggestive leer was compromised by the tremor in his voice.
Spike really wished he had a cigarette, but the pack and his coat were still on the floor below, along with Buffy’s shirt.
”But it was real, wasn’t it?” Buffy’s voice belied her doubt in him and what she had seen.
”Well, I did spend a hundred years with Drusilla; so maybe I’m not the best sanity check, slayer,” Spike reproached bitterly and a little wistfully as he reached for his jeans.
”Well, I’m here with you, so I must be insane!” Buffy retorted, hands on hips, glaring at him balefully.
”You know, pet…” he started suggestively, “you bounce really nicely when you’re angry; it almost makes it worth listening to your annoying voi…”
SMACK
”Bloody hell! What’d you do that for?” Spike cried, clutching his nose protectively while Buffy tried to cover her bare chest and still look suitably threatening.
”Because I can, Spike,” Buffy said sweetly, “and because I think you like it when I do.”
”That I do,” Spike admitted, dropping his jeans that he was putting on and looked at her appraisingly, “and I know that you like it when I do about anything to you.”
”Except talk to me; you talk entirely too much,” she informed him as she slid up to him sensually.
”In fact,” she continued, running a fingernail down his chest until he growled and grabbed her hand, licking the palm and lowering it to where he now needed it, making him hiss as she caressed him, “I think your gifts lie elsewhere.”
In the spirit… and imagination…
Spike buried his head in her neck, drowning in her to drown out memories, old ones and impossible new ones.
A few minutes later he was struck by a thought, and he wondered what Xander was doing before he returned to the task at hand between the moaning slayer’s taut thighs.
”And they say I can’t plan…” Spike thought to himself with a grin.
Disclaimers and summary: see chapter 1
Feedback: Like air, like food, like Spike... :)
A/N: This chapter contains graphic sex with some semi-noncon and bd themes so read at your own risk as I'm not the best judge at what might offend others; also, this is a Spander fic, but I fully explore the strange and passionate connection that Spike and Buffy have; it's the journey folks *veg*
Was there anything greater than everything… “Everything,” she had said. Indeed, everything was flying through Spike’s brain at that moment, well it was until he was flying through the air and slamming up against what felt like a metal cage.
He shifted and fell to the floor, but before he could protest a very hot, lust-possessed slayer was on him. He could feel the wooden slates of the floor through his shirt and the grit embed itself into his hair. Buffy was like an animal, tearing at his mouth with her teeth while she writhed against him. She reached up and pinned his hands to the floor above him, relishing the feel of the dust clinging to everything – it felt so deliciously dirty she couldn’t help but moan.
Spike took advantage of her moan to capture her tongue between his teeth and suck on it playfully. He grabbed her hands and reversed the hold, struggling to pin them down to her sides. He finally succeeded when he threateningly bit down a little bit harder on her tongue in a game of domination. He won long enough to capture her hands tightly behind her back while she screamed in frustration.
Keeping her hands tightly bound in his, he manoeuvred himself behind her, grinding into her ass and delighting in her gasps of fear-induced lust. He switched his grip so that one of his hands was free, praying that she didn’t get loose in the meantime, so that hand could reach under Buffy and tug roughly on her bare nipples.
”Oh, now, little kitty,” Spike teased at the way she was hissing at him, “I can feel how tight and hard your tits are for me.”
”I bet you’re all wet for me too,” he continued, erotically.
”Maybe thinthinking of somebody else,” Buffy said cruelly.
”Maybe I am too,” Spike begun cryptically, “but, I’m,” he punctuated him statement with a hard thrust of his cock against her still covered ass, “the only one here right now.”
”I’m the only one here right now, Anya,” Xander pleaded in frustration, “isn’t that enough?”
While initially turned on by her amazing inventiveness in the bedroom, and kitchen… and bathroom… and various public places (including some rather disturbing memories of an ice cream truck that may or may not be real), Xander was just fed up.
”But, Xander, I just want to try something new,” Anya cajoled, “our sex is great, but it is getting a tiny bit boring.”
”Although,” she continued, in a sultry voice, “I know something not so little, that I bet wants it… deep down.”
She gave his crotch a playful rub.
Xander shifted uncomfortably; his body had gotten too used to responding to her. But, he had been making a point – if he could only remember what that was exactly.
”Anya, honey, are you really that unhappy with what we have?” Xander asked, trying to ignore the part of his brain that was stuck in “have sex with pretty girl” mode… in other words, pretty much all of it.
Anya continued, ignoring words that did not have to do with what she was doing – silly words that had nothing to do with having orgasms.
”Anya,” Xander said patiently, as she had muttered those last words aloud, “not everything is about orgasms… and why do I suddenly feel like you should dress me in an apron and call me Sally now that I’ve said that?”
He suddenly caught her speculative glance.
”Never mind,” he said, curtly cutting off her incipient agreement.
”Oh honey, I love it when you’re forceful – can we play “taming of the shrew” again; it’s an oldie but a goody!” Anya exclaimed in an excruciatingly chipper voice.
”You like it when I’m forceful, don’t you love,” Spike asked in a voice of honey covered stingers.
He had Buffy pinned up against the side of the elevator wall, still on her knees, with her legs pried open and her back arched in such a way as to give a chiropractor nightmares. And he was right; she loved it. She loved the way the rough slats of the lift’s walls rubbed her bare nipples raw as he pounded her up against it with every brutal thrust. She loved the way she could feel every inch of him fill her in a way that bordered on painful. She loved the way he had her head pulled to the side by the tight and punishing grip on her hair, exposing her neck in a submissive pose. And she loved how he was talking to her, making her forget everything but the dirt and the shame and the pleasure and him.
”So sweet and hot and wet you are,” he murmured in her ear, “You know, I think I could stay in here forever, keep you bent over, taking you over and over, however and whenever I want…”
Amazingly Buffy was even more turned on; images of her tied up, bound up to his mercy aroused her even further. woulwould have been ashamed of just how much if her mind could get beyond, “fucking Spike good”.
”Yeah, that’s right, my pretty little bitch, squeeze me tight,” he moaned harshly, “ah yeah, always knew you could be a right little slut if you just got the right demon between your knees,” Spike crowed jubilantly as Buffy quivered around him while she begged him to stop, to never stop.
”Spike, you evil bastard,” Buffy ground out when he pulled back to tease her, rubbing his cock lightly around her opening and her clit, “just fuck me, fuck me hard!”
”What was that love?” Spike asked innocently, lightly probing and rubbing her ass in ever maddening slow circles until she thought she would combust from the agony of it.
”Fuck. Me.”
”As you wish,” Spike agreed as he started to slide in somewhere that Buffy really didn’t remember being in the manual.
”Ow, ow, ow!” she yelped, rather unsexily, as she was spread wide open, stretching and possibly tearing as her body tried to adjust to the unfamiliar and unexpected invasion.
Luckily, she had enough lubrication from before, coating her from front to back and dripping down her thighs, to sponsor a gay porn convention.
”Hush, sweet,” Spike admonished, sweetly cajoling, “Just relax and let it come in.”
She tried to obey, but she was too distracted by the conflict between the lovely things he was doing to her clit and the really big and even more distracting excruciating pain that was burning through her in ways she didn’t even know could hurt. And somewhere in the midst of it all, a low, deep-down spark was forming, building up to something, something unexpected.
Spike, meanwhile, was doing all he could not to come right then and there. The little mewling sounds of pain and pleasure she was making were driving him almost as crazy as her impossible tightness gripping him like a vice.
Suddenly, that spark exploded in Buffy, rushing through her body with all the power of a back draft; she bucked back against him so hard that he fell onto his back. She followed, impaling herself again with a painful grunt from the gravity as Spike thrust harshly two, three more times before coming in great gasping gulps.
Buffy threw herself against the opposite wall, wide-eyed at what had just happened. All the sudden, there was a clanking noise as the old service elevator started to move. She had accidentally nudged the switch in her desperate attempt to flee to the other side of the cage and to denial. However, denial and everything else was forgotten as haunting and seductive sounds of a cello filtered up through the burned out factory. A disturbingly familiar voice rose out of the music…
”Spike, you always know just what’s in my heart… blood and lust… and destruction.” Drusilla
Drusilla was dancing, swaying to music that for once was not only in her head, as she lovingly caressed the wooden boxes being brought in to her. Spike was right next to her, watching her float around the room, smiling indulgently when she complained about the roses being the wrong colour. Yet, Spike was still in the cage with Buffy looking on the scene with a mixture and horror and pure longing.
”Now that was unexpected,” Spike said, as the scene faded from view, the music lingering sickly for a few bars before it too lapsed into silence.
”Now that was unexpected,” Xander commented to himself morosely.
He was standing in the middle of his bedroom in his shiny new apartment that Spike had just helped him move into a mere 5 days ago. The bed that he had envisioned much sex and yes, damn it, cuddling, with Anya, was unmade, with clothes strewn all over it. And he was alone. Anya had finally given up and left. What was funny is that she didn’t argue, didn’t yell, just got very quiet, looked at him with shining eyes and a quivering lip, and turned and walked out the door. She then knocked on the door frantically when she realised she had forgotten her purse, but the exit was valid nevertheless.
Xander thought back to where it all went wrong, and he was sure it was somewhere in between the words “Spike” and “couldn’t you act like a human for once and not an orgy-crazed demon?” Yeah, he could probably pin it down to that, or possibly the “if you would just get your head out of your ass and Spike’s penis up it”. Even now he had to chuckle at Anya’s way with words; she didn’t just speak them, she wielded them as some sort of blunt instrument. That chuckle turned into a half-hearted sob as he stalked into the bathroom, turned the shower on hot and slammed the door shut. He felt the water cascade down on him like hot absolution, and he murmured a name.
”Dru,” Spike murmured her name like a prayer to a dark, forgotten god.
”Spike!” Buffy hissed in his ear, “What did you do?”
She was peering through the slats of the old freight elevator that had shuddered to a halt, precariously balanced between floors and between times.
”I didn’t do anything, well not about this anyway,” his suggestive leer was compromised by the tremor in his voice.
Spike really wished he had a cigarette, but the pack and his coat were still on the floor below, along with Buffy’s shirt.
”But it was real, wasn’t it?” Buffy’s voice belied her doubt in him and what she had seen.
”Well, I did spend a hundred years with Drusilla; so maybe I’m not the best sanity check, slayer,” Spike reproached bitterly and a little wistfully as he reached for his jeans.
”Well, I’m here with you, so I must be insane!” Buffy retorted, hands on hips, glaring at him balefully.
”You know, pet…” he started suggestively, “you bounce really nicely when you’re angry; it almost makes it worth listening to your annoying voi…”
SMACK
”Bloody hell! What’d you do that for?” Spike cried, clutching his nose protectively while Buffy tried to cover her bare chest and still look suitably threatening.
”Because I can, Spike,” Buffy said sweetly, “and because I think you like it when I do.”
”That I do,” Spike admitted, dropping his jeans that he was putting on and looked at her appraisingly, “and I know that you like it when I do about anything to you.”
”Except talk to me; you talk entirely too much,” she informed him as she slid up to him sensually.
”In fact,” she continued, running a fingernail down his chest until he growled and grabbed her hand, licking the palm and lowering it to where he now needed it, making him hiss as she caressed him, “I think your gifts lie elsewhere.”
In the spirit… and imagination…
Spike buried his head in her neck, drowning in her to drown out memories, old ones and impossible new ones.
A few minutes later he was struck by a thought, and he wondered what Xander was doing before he returned to the task at hand between the moaning slayer’s taut thighs.
”And they say I can’t plan…” Spike thought to himself with a grin.