Prince Charming

Spike had spent all evening working diligently at his ropes and was thiiiiis bloody close to getting the first loop off over his fingertips. He scrunched his fingers hard and straightened them quickly, and the rope slid another fraction of a centimeter down his fingers. He was getting really sick of being tied to this chair, and his mouth opened in a gleeful "ha" as the first loop of rope slipped free and he began to tug at his hand, working the loops loose.

After a moment of quick, jerky motions, he rid himself of the first coil of rope. His left arm free, he hastily set to work on untying his right arm, and then turned his attention to the ropes around his chest and ankles. Before long, he was shaking off the last loops of scratchy rope and stretching, languid and catlike, on his feet. Now, to find some of that pigs' blood and some entertainment.

Footsteps and the soft rustling of cloth – Spike cocked his head to the side and followed the sound, moving more silently than his own shadow. After tracing a labyrinth of halls, he found himself separated by a single door from the hot smell of a human life. Laying his cheek flat against the wall, he squinted through the crack between the door and the frame.

Xander Harris. Undressing.

It wasn't that the boy was anything like attractive. Pale and doughy, lacking definition, his torso was more reminiscent of unbaked bread than something Spike would want to put his dangly bits into. Nonetheless, something about him, be it the bluish veins pulsing so hot, so close under the skin, or the pounding of the boy's heart that was almost audible, or the rasp of his breathing, made Spike's skin feel a size or two too tight.

Stripped to his underthings, the careless prat had folded himself into his bed. Spike was about to give up and go test the strength of every ward on every door in the building when he realized that the muffled motions under the boy’s comforter and the quiet change in the cadence of his breaths were indicative of anything but sleep.

Spike inched his fingers carefully into the opening of the door, widening it by a fraction of an inch, and set his eye against it. His tongue flickered out and over his pale lips as he watched intently. The boy’s face was exquisitely taut with concentration, and it didn't take long for Spike to realize that he was hard.

The boy’s body was moving with languid intent and his mouth had fallen open, giving low almost-voice to his harsh exhalations. Through the darkness, Spike could see the boy’s eyelashes laying against his cheek, the soft bluish veins in his closed eyelids that spoke to Spike of opportunity. He eased the door open and slithered through it almost too fast for the human eye, even if the boy had been watching. His footsteps cat-quiet, he approached the bed until he was standing over the boy’s twisting, unseeing form under the blankets.

“Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise?”

The soft brown eyes flew open and Harris froze.

His expression panicked, he yanked both arms out from under his blanket and clutched it defensively around his bare chest.

“Spike! What the – how did you get out?” His pupils were dilated, his pulse racing. Spike’s nostrils flared.

“I think you may have been too busy flirting with your troop leader to really learn those knots, love,” Spike grinned, dangling the cords that were still looped loosely around his arms over Harris’s face. He tossed the ropes aside and gave a slow chuckle, reaching down to delicately tug away Xander’s blanket, too quickly for him to resist.

“What have we got here, chum?” He tossed the blanket to one side and took another step towards the bed, his shins bumping against the metal frame. “Someone’s been naughty.” The boy’s discomfort was as obvious as the tented front of his boxers that he was trying to hide with both hands. He struggled into a sitting position, propped on his elbows, the skin of his face and neck flushed and hot.

“Get away from me, Spike,” Harris warned, fumbling with one hand towards the bedtable and closing his fingers around a wooden stake. “Don’t come any closer. I’ll –” He flailed the stake vaguely about.

“Easy, now, Harris,” Spike murmured as if to an animal, locking eyes with the boy. His hand shot out and closed like a vise around Harris’s wrist, and in the next moment the stake was clattering across the room. Without releasing the wrist in his grip, he set one knee on the bed and straddled the boy, who was saying things like “Buffy” and “help” and “oh, god,” in that lovely breathy little voice.

“Shh, now, y’prat.” Spike leaned forward and pinned him down. At this proximity, the smell of hot blood and life on the boy was intoxicating. He shifted his weight, settling it more firmly over the boy's hips, crushing the young fellow's erection into his belly.
”Get off get off get off,” yowled Harris, writhing ineffectually, “Why are you doing this?”

Spike shrugged as best he could with both his arms occupied in keeping the boy immobile. “I want to,” he said slowly, “And I can tell you want it. But mostly –” He dipped his head to trace the vein in the boy’s neck, his lips a fraction of an inch from Harris’s skin. He breathed in deeply, reveling in the smell. “Mostly because I’m very – very – hungry.”

“You can’t bite me,” gasped Harris, “The chip – the – it’ll stop you.”

“We’ll see,” Spike replied, running his tongue over his teeth.

“And – wait a minute! I don’t want any such thing – I told you to get off me!” The boy’s thrashing began anew, and Spike rode out the motion, noting with satisfaction that it did nothing to quell Harris’s continued arousal. When his movements had calmed somewhat, Spike wrenched his wrists higher over his head so he could hold them with one hand, then scored the nails of the other hand down Harris’s chest hard enough to leave white lines in their wake. As the boy winced and averted his eyes, the white lines turned red and a tiny drop of blood appeared at the bottom of one. Spike caught it on his finger, and brought it to the boy’s lips instead of his own.

“What d’you know,” he murmured, “Looks like I can hurt you after all.”

Harris turned his head away, making a muted sound of protest, and Spike leaned down, tangling his free hand in the boy’s hair to turn his face back, and licked the spot of blood off his lower lip. The taste of it, and the way the muscles in Harris’s throat moved as he tried to contain a moan, made Spike smile and roll his hips lightly, bringing his denim-covered erection firmly up against Harris’s. Another, less stifled sound followed the first, shaped into the word “Fuck” as the boy couldn’t keep his hips from canting upward, trying to follow Spike’s body as he moved just out of reach.

"Ahhh," breathed Spike in satisfaction. "Now he's beginning to feel it." He settled his weight down again, hooking the fingers of his free hand lightly into the hollow of the boy’s collarbone. He stroked his thumb over Harris's nipple before pinching it sharply. "I won't let you go, little boy. Don't you worry."
”Fuck you, Spike, you know I don’t want this,” gritted Harris, his teeth clenched and the tendons in his neck standing out in relief.

"You’re hard for me, aren’t you?" Spike gave a low, velvety chuckle and dropped his free hand to trace the outline of Xander's cock. He leaned closer and breathed into the boy's ear. "I know you want this. Want me. You know it just as surely as I do."
”No,” he repeated, closing his eyes and clenching his fists under Spike’s grasp. “No.”

"Yes," insisted Spike, taking the boy's earlobe between his teeth and giving it a light nip. "Yessss."

The rope which had earlier bound Spike to the chair was now draped over the side of the bed. He felt for it without releasing Harris and carefully lashed his wrists to the bedpost, jerking the rope so tight that the boy's hands started to darken. "Is that too tight, boy?"

“Yes,” cried Harris indignantly, wiggling his purpling fingers, and Spike nodded, satisfied. He gave the rope a final tug to make sure it wouldn’t be coming loose and then sat up, still straddling the boy.

“Are you frightened?”

The question seemed to throw Harris off guard, and he looked up, meeting Spike’s eyes. Without waiting for an answer, Spike cupped the boy's jaw in one cold hand and turned his head to the side. A vein pulsed under the hot skin of his neck, and Spike licked his lips.

“Yes, all right,” gasped Harris, “Yes, I’m terrified. Is that what you want to hear?”

“It’ll do,” the vampire murmured, lowering his head and dragging his tongue wetly up the side of the boy's neck to his jawbone. He gave a soft moan of predatory pleasure and drew his nails down the boy's chest again. A trickle of blood appeared, and Spike's wet mouth was quick to catch it just below Harris's nipple.

He could feel the boy trembling beneath him as he swallowed.

"You taste like sunshine," Spike whispered, meeting the boy's eyes. His lips were slick with blood. A faint whimper escaped Harris’s lips, but he pressed them together and said nothing.
Spike lowered his lips once more to the pale chest before him. He opened his mouth in a mockery of a kiss and let his fangs glide through the boy's skin. Sweet, hot blood began to fill his mouth.

“Fuck,” moaned Harris, bucking his hips, “Please stop, Spike, please.” Spike ignored him, running his tongue over the shallow puncture. He glided lower, slipping the boy’s boxers down to his hips and exposing his cock, dark red and dripping, to the cool air. Harris swallowed hard but couldn’t contain a low, throaty groan.

Spike’s mouth reached the boy's navel – he exhaled hotly over the head of his erection but still did not touch it. The boy’s every exhale ended in a whimper, now, as Spike bit him again and again – light, shallow cuts – to hurt, but not to wound. “So sweet, pet,” he murmured, sibilant.

Spike touched him then, for the first time, closing his fingers around the boy's erection and pulling roughly upwards.
”Shit,” gasped Harris as his body arched off the bed into the vampire’s touch. “God, Spike, what do you want?”

Spike's tongue flicked out and danced along the damp skin where the boy’s thigh met his hip. "Your blood," he replied conversationally. "Your tears, your sweat, your come. I want to drink of you until you've nothing left."
”Don’t,” breathed Harris, his body shuddering under the velvet and blood touch of Spike’s words. “Please don’t… I’ll do anything.”

"I can smell the need on you, boy." Spike ran the flat of his tongue from the boy's hip inwards. "You can’t hide from this." Heat, musk, and the undeniable scent of arousal filled his nostrils, and his own cock was hard in his jeans, so sensitive that he nearly cried out from pleasure every time a shift of his weight slid soft-worn denim over his tender skin.

Spike fastened his mouth over another dripping puncture and sucked gently. He loved the way his chin fit in the hollow of the boy's thigh as he fed hungrily from the flesh over his hipbone, so deliciously close to the heady pulse that tempted him so.

Unable to resist any longer, Spike ghosted his lips over the very tip of the boy’s erection, moistening them with the clear fluid beading at the end. “I’m not going to let you go tonight,” he purred, “until I’ve fucked you. And I’m not going to fuck you --" He dipped his head and ran the flat of his tongue once up the boy's member from base to tip -- "Until you beg me to."
”You can’t do this to me,” Harris said, his voice uncharacteristically high with fear and catching partway through his words. “The chip – you just can’t, please, please let me go.”

All Spike said was, "Can't I?" before he'd engulfed the boy's cock in his mouth. His mouth was cool, like the rest of his body, but it was wet and his tongue was clever and his teeth scraped with the sweetest promise of pain over Harris’s skin. The boy had frozen with the first touch of Spike’s mouth, trying desperately to suppress even his shuddering for fear of being bitten, but Spike could see his hands, purplish from the ropes, clenching and unclenching frantically above his head.

And gods, but the boy’s surrender was delicious. He was almost gnawing through his own lips in a vain attempt to keep silent, but drawn-out, whining moans were still spilling out of him. Spike could see tears trickling out of the corner of his eyes and leaving trails down the sides of his face.

After hundreds of years to perfect his skills, Spike was no amateur, and it took him very little time to bring the boy to the peak of arousal and hold him there, trembling, breathless, for interminable seconds before pulling away.
For a moment, Harris continued to writhe, not registering that the wet touch of Spike’s mouth had vanished, leaving him cold, desperate. He almost sobbed as Spike sat back on his heels, horribly smug, wiping the back of his wrist across his lips with the languid pleasure of a man in complete control.

Harris lifted his head, his eyes unfocused and his mouth red and working silently. He was ready; Spike could see it in his body, nearly vibrating with tension, and his expression, dazed and full of anguish.

“Spike,” he whispered, twisting the syllable up into a question, “Spike?”

Without speaking, Spike leaned forward and covered the boy's immobile body with his own. One hand supported his weight, the other undid his jeans with nimble fingers. With a sharp motion, he bent his head and kissed the boy, long and hard, his tongue tasting of copper.

“Ask me,” he demanded, pulling his head back for a moment, leaving the boy’s lips shining and scarlet with his own blood. “Ask me and I’ll do it.” Without preamble, he pushed Harris’s knees apart, painfully wide, and anchored them there with his own.

The boy shook his head, panic in his eyes.

“Don’t be frightened, pet,” breathed Spike against the boy’s lips, his long index finger prodding inexorably between Harris’s spread thighs. “I won’t hurt you. Well –” He withdrew his hand, spat in it, and returned to his task, “Yeah, I will. But I probably won’t kill you.” The boy was nearly thrashing with the combined need to escape Spike’s ministrations and to find relief. His jaw was tightly clenched in discomfort, and his shoulders were shaking from strain.

“Let me go, Spike,” he forced out, his breath hissing between his teeth. “Please, just…” His exhale was a defeated moan. “Just finish it.”

“What’s that you’re after, then?” Spike already knew, but he wanted to hear those filthy words dripping from the boy's trembling lips. Another finger inside the boy, twisting and stretching and preparing, and Spike pressed a row of gentle kisses from his lips to just below his ear as he eased out of his jeans.

If he’d had a breath in him, the sudden feeling of skin-to-skin contact would have taken it away.

And it would have been gone again, twice over, at the sound of Xander Harris’s voice, rough and breathless, saying “For god’s sake, Spike, just do it. Just…fuck me.”

So hard it hurt and needing no second invitation, Spike smoothed what fluid he could gather over his cock and forced himself into the boy.

Harris did cry out at that, drawn-out and anguished, like the sound was being torn from his throat, and Spike answered him with a snarl, his fingers so tight around the boy’s hips that they left scarlet marks on the pale, abused skin.

"Am I hurting you, boy?" Spike's expression was a malicious grin as he arched his hips, driving himself more firmly into the boy.
”Yes,” the boy whimpered, his voice dull, breathing quick and harsh.

"Oh, you beautiful, beautiful boy," Spike muttered, drawing himself out and slamming back in, the friction and searing heat so intense around him that he almost couldn't stand it. He began to thrust in a slow, deliberate rhythm, sucking air through his teeth and snarling with pleasure. He took one hand away from supporting himself to wrap his fingers hard around the boy’s cock, jerking it in time with every motion of his hips to make him feel it too. Harris stiffened, caught his breath, tossed his head from side to side. His lashes were clumped together with tears.
"I know it hurts, pet, but breathe with it." Spike kissed him again, hotly. "All be over soon, love." His voice was nearly a moan as he surged foward and forward into the boy. Skin rubbed against raw, bloody skin as his chest slid over Harris's.

Words were falling unheeded from Spike's lips, words like "like that?" and "fuck" and "you little bastard, you little whore". He angled his hips as he pressed himself between the boy's thighs, his hand a blur and his eyes drifting shut in pleasure.
The sounds escaping from Harris’s lips had changed cadence, and Spike could feel his body moving slowly beneath him – no longer scrabbling to escape, but moving with him as the tension began to build, low in his belly and behind his eyes. He changed his pace, hearing the long, slow moans from the boy’s lips and mirroring them with long, slow thrusts that rocked their joined bodies. He forced himself to maintain a steady motion as he hooked his fingers around Harris’s hips and pulled him forward. The boy dangled from his bound hands as Spike forced himself inside again and again – it wouldn’t be long now. He lowered his teeth once more to the boy’s throat, stroking hard and rough at the boy’s cock. It felt like hot satin in his hand, and every motion of his fingers drew another strangled cry out of the tortured boy until suddenly – wetly – shudderingly –

The boy came and it was the sweetest thing Spike had ever seen. He stroked once, twice more, his hips quivering with the strain of containing his own surrender, then with the last of his willpower, slid out of the boy, his face twisted in anticipation. He slipped to his feet and with a few quick tugs of his own hand, flung himself over the edge and spattered his release over the boy’s chest, neck, and face.

Still in a fog from his own orgasm, Harris looked up and around, first startled, then disgusted as his breathing began to slow. Spike saw his fingers twitch.

He touched the boy’s now slimy cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “There’s what you’re worth, Harris,” he breathed, running his other hand through his sweaty curls. “That’s all you get.” His body was still quaking with pleasure as he reached for his jeans and pulled them up.

Harris took a long breath and released it. His lower lip quivered. “Spike?”

There was a long, silent pause.

“Yes, pet?”

The boy’s eyes were unreadable. “Please untie my hands.”

Spike acquiesced, pulling the knots apart. Harris grunted softly as the blood returned to his numb fingers, then he quickly pulled the blanket over his body. The fibers rasped over dried blood on his torso, and he winced.

Spike pushed his hand through the boy’s hair, which was stuck in clumps to his forehead. “Don’t look so glum,” he said softly, “…Xander.”
He pressed an unexpectedly gentle kiss to Xander’s mouth before shrugging into his shirt and leaving the room.