Bringing it Home/Hand to Hand
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male › Spike(William)/Xander
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,604
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male › Spike(William)/Xander
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,604
Reviews:
1
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.
Bringing it Home/Hand to Hand
These linked ficlets explore a darker (still loving) side of Xander and Spike together. Bondage/spanking but it's consensual.
Bringing it Home
And he knows that Spike will him him do anything to him. And that's good. But not tonight. Tonight he's so angry he's livid. Bruise coloured rage, heavy storm cloud gathering emotions swirling in his head. He can't trust himself to touch a body that would double as a punching bag if he told it to, if he asked, if he even just hit it and raised an eyebrow in a wordless query afterwards.
So Spike's on the sofa, a long lean line of black-clad vampire and Xander's kneeling naked, the hands that tried to hit crossed and tied behind him, the mouth that wanted to spit out hurtful words silenced by a gag, waiting for the storm to pass and the blue skies to come again.
But it’s not working, not tonight, and he’s about to give up when Spike sighs.
Not an impatient sigh, though Xander knows he’s been hard since he heard the key in the door. Not angry either, or sad, disappointed or bored. It’s a sigh because Spike’s waiting, waiting for him to come home for real.
And it’s all it takes. Xander snaps the single strand of cotton that holds his wrists in place, tugs on the bow that fastens the silk scarf between his teeth and opens his eyes to see himself reflected in the blue of Spike’s eyes.
And he knows he’s home.
The End
Hand to Hand
He’s asked for this before. Not often, but enough to know he likes it. Always as foreplay, never lasting long, nothing but a faint, fading flush left behind. And he always has to ask.
Tonight is different. He didn’t ask for it tonight. He didn’t get a choice. He’s face down over Spike’s thighs, not even stripped, his shirt shoved up, his jeans ripped down and he’s hurting and hard after just one angry slap.
And it doesn’t end, not even when he’s past the point where there’s any pleasure in it, not even when his own erection fades because he knows Spike isn’t hard at all, isn’t liking this one bit. It keeps on until Spike’s hand untwists from its grip on his shirt, pressing down in the hollow of his half-bared back and comes up to swipe blindly across his face.
And when the hand comes away wet the other hand stills and it’s over, done.
And now Xander knows what will happen the next time he shows off on patrol and comes so close to dying that Spike’s eyes turn empty with shock then fill with disgust.
And he knows there won’t be a next time.
Because he’s hurting but Spike hurts worse and the first thing he does when he’s released is to slide his cool hand against Spike’s warm one and not let go for a long, long time.
The End
Bringing it Home
And he knows that Spike will him him do anything to him. And that's good. But not tonight. Tonight he's so angry he's livid. Bruise coloured rage, heavy storm cloud gathering emotions swirling in his head. He can't trust himself to touch a body that would double as a punching bag if he told it to, if he asked, if he even just hit it and raised an eyebrow in a wordless query afterwards.
So Spike's on the sofa, a long lean line of black-clad vampire and Xander's kneeling naked, the hands that tried to hit crossed and tied behind him, the mouth that wanted to spit out hurtful words silenced by a gag, waiting for the storm to pass and the blue skies to come again.
But it’s not working, not tonight, and he’s about to give up when Spike sighs.
Not an impatient sigh, though Xander knows he’s been hard since he heard the key in the door. Not angry either, or sad, disappointed or bored. It’s a sigh because Spike’s waiting, waiting for him to come home for real.
And it’s all it takes. Xander snaps the single strand of cotton that holds his wrists in place, tugs on the bow that fastens the silk scarf between his teeth and opens his eyes to see himself reflected in the blue of Spike’s eyes.
And he knows he’s home.
The End
Hand to Hand
He’s asked for this before. Not often, but enough to know he likes it. Always as foreplay, never lasting long, nothing but a faint, fading flush left behind. And he always has to ask.
Tonight is different. He didn’t ask for it tonight. He didn’t get a choice. He’s face down over Spike’s thighs, not even stripped, his shirt shoved up, his jeans ripped down and he’s hurting and hard after just one angry slap.
And it doesn’t end, not even when he’s past the point where there’s any pleasure in it, not even when his own erection fades because he knows Spike isn’t hard at all, isn’t liking this one bit. It keeps on until Spike’s hand untwists from its grip on his shirt, pressing down in the hollow of his half-bared back and comes up to swipe blindly across his face.
And when the hand comes away wet the other hand stills and it’s over, done.
And now Xander knows what will happen the next time he shows off on patrol and comes so close to dying that Spike’s eyes turn empty with shock then fill with disgust.
And he knows there won’t be a next time.
Because he’s hurting but Spike hurts worse and the first thing he does when he’s released is to slide his cool hand against Spike’s warm one and not let go for a long, long time.
The End