Predatory Acts
by Jane Davitt

Chapter 6

It didn’t take long to walk to Spike’s room. Nowhere in Sunnydale was far from anywhere else. Xander might have wished the walk took longer, but the silence that had fallen as they moved away from his house was so nerve wracking that he found himself hurrying instead. The route took them to a part of the town that he didn’t know well. Alleyways that seemed to be dead ends turned out to have small openings, leading into a labyrinth of narrow streets with doors that did their best to look like part of the walls. Not many windows. The last time he’d come here he’d been so overwhelmed by his first taste of blood that he hadn’t really paid attention. His instincts had carried him out of the maze safely then but he wasn’t sure he could retrace his steps as a human.

Shadows and faint noises combined to make him on edge. He sensed that as they walked people were moving out of their path only to reappear behind them, tracking them as though Spike were the Pied Piper. He wanted to turn around but the first time he tried, Spike’s hand shot out, gripping his arm. “Never look back,” he said. “It doesn’t help, believe me.”

The shadowy entourage melted away as they reached the steps leading down to Spike’s room and Xander sighed with relief. Spike looked at him curiously. “Don’t come here much, then?”

Xander shook his head. “I’ve lived here all my life and never realised the truth until I met Buffy.”

“What’s that then?”

Xander looked at him. “The demons are at the heart of this town. It’s theirs, isn’t it?”

Spike shrugged. “It’s on the Hellmouth. What did you expect?”

He opened the door and Xander walked inside for the third time. An old saying flashed across his mind. Third time’s the charm.

He pushed the door closed and turned to face Spike. The vampire had shed his coat, throwing it carelessly across a chair. He stood, relaxed and confident, a smile tugging his lips upwards. Xander watched him suspiciously. “Relax, mate,” Spike drawled. “Got my word I won’t hurt you.”

“Pity you didn’t give me that last time,” said Xander.

The smile vanished and Spike looked almost troubled. He walked to Xander, slid his hands under the collar of his shirt and then began to unbutton it. Xander stood still as Spike slipped the shirt back over his shoulders and down his arms, gathering it in one hand and tossing it aside. Spike’s eyes travelled slowly over Xander’s chest and arms and then he walked around to study Xander’s back. Xander bit his lip as he felt fingers trail gently across his skin, following the livid bruises that he had glimpsed in the mirror but had been too sore to twist enough to see properly.

“Did I do these?” Spike asked, his tone neutral.

Xander turned to face him. “No. Well, some, maybe. Mostly below the waist are from you. The ones you can see are mainly from Buffy.”

“The Slayer hit you? Why? Thought you were mates.”

Xander met his eyes. “We are. That’s why when I tried to rape her she let me live.”

Spike looked startled and then nodded understandingly. “When you were still possessed.” Xander didn’t bother answering. “She’s a forgiving type for a Slayer. You can count yourself lucky.”

Xander’s voice was bitter. “Oh, I do, believe me.”

Spike pursed his lips. “Time grows short. Do you want to talk yourself into tears or fuck until you scream for more?”

Xander gaped at him, struck by the brutal simplicity of the question. “I want to ...” His voice faded, unable to form the words and give them substance, and his eyes pleaded for help.

Spike waited in silence and then seemed to relent. “Tell you what,” he said. “I wouldn’t let you stay in cuffs before but this time I’ll help you out.”

“Y-you’re going to tie me up?” Xander asked, his voice blending fear and fascination in equal quantities.

Spike shook his head. “No need.” He took Xander’s face between his hands and kissed him, a searching, lingering kiss that left Xander gasping. Spike pulled away and laid a finger on Xander’s warm mouth, tracing the outline of his lips, dragging his cool finger across the moist skin. “Sshh...” he said. “No more words until I say you can speak. You can moan, you can whimper, you can cry out, you can scream, but no words. Do you understand?” Xander nodded. “Good boy. See; now you can’t argue or persuade me not to do what I’m going to do. It’ll all be the fault of the nasty, evil vampire.”

Xander heard the faint disappointment lurking behind the mockery and wanted to say something, take back the responsibility for his actions, follow through for once in his life. Loathing at his own cowardice swept through him and he looked up, only to see Spike’s knowing eyes. He had been tricked into guilty obedience as a punishment for wavering. Anger, hot and raw, replaced his self loathing.

“Don’t be like that,” said Spike. “Any time you want to stop being a wuss, you know what to do. You’ll have to take the consequences of course.” He shook his head, like a dog shaking off rainwater, and his vampire face emerged. “Do I need to spell them out?”

Xander found that his teeth were clenched so hard together to stop the words from pouring out that his jaw was aching.

“Enough. I want you naked by the time I am. Don’t make me wait.” Spike’s voice was easy, even friendly, and his face was human again, but Xander didn’t trust either tone or appearance. He reached for his belt buckle and then hesitated. Spike had skinned off his T shirt in one shrugging movement, not hurrying but not lingering either. He sat down on the bed and reached down to undo his boots, giving Xander a curious upward glance as the boy stood unmoving. Xander swallowed. Moving slowly he walked towards Spike, fell to his knees and brushed Spike’s hands away, taking over the task of unfastening his boots.

“You do that and I’ll beat you,” Spike murmured, managing to cram more alternate meanings into seven words than Xander had ever thought possible.

Ignoring him, Xander pulled off first one boot and then the other, placing them neatly to the side. Spike’s bare feet were like the rest of his body; elegant and fined down. He sat back and pushed himself up, watching as Spike copied him. They unbuckled belts, eased down zippers and stepped out of jeans. Spike stood naked; Xander had managed to pull his shorts down with his jeans but still had socks on. Spike began to count aloud and panic, unreasoning and terrifying, tore through Xander as he stood awkwardly on first one foot and then the other, trying to yank off his socks. It wasn’t dignified but he managed it as Spike reached nine.

“Going to make you wish you hadn’t done that,” said Spike, coming so close as he spoke into Xander’s ear that the words themselves reached out to tickle against his skin. “Nine...that’s a lot. Brace yourself.”

He took Xander’s arms and pushed them back, making him lock his hands together in the hollow of his spine. “Don’t move. Not even a little bit.”

Xander closed his eyes, waiting for the blows, the pain. He was hard but he had been since the door closed and locked him in with Spike. “Eyes open, love. You can give me that much at least.” The voice flicked at him, stinging and goading. Xander wasn’t sure how Spike had known that his eyes were closed but he opened them obediently and stared ahead through tear –blurred eyes. Spike appeared in front of him, startling him. He frowned, puzzled, and then gasped as Spike knelt and cupped his balls in one hand, the other gripping the base of his cock firmly. Xander felt exposed and vulnerable and unbearably aroused all at once. Spike leaned forward and began to lick the head of Xander’s cock, gentle, smooth licks that covered every square centimetre with agonising precision. Nine licks, the last one with Spike’s tongue darting inside the slit of the head, making Xander’s hips thrust forward helplessly. The touch was too tightly focused to be anything other than tantalising. It left Xander so hard it hurt. Spike stood, his face absorbed, and leaned in to kiss Xander’s mouth, that clever tongue flickering against his in a deliberate echo of his previous action. Spike’s arms were around him now, his hands roving, roaming, reaching out. Xander ached with the need to touch him back but kept his hands in place, determined not to let Spike win.

They stood like that for endless minutes, Xander a living statue, motionless, unable to respond with anything but his parted lips. Spike rarely kissed them, lavishing his attentions on every part of Xander’s body but his mouth, standing or stooping, kissing each bruise and scratch, licking and biting, scratching softly until Xander’s body was alive with sensation, screaming out with need.

“And that was nine minutes,” said Spike suddenly. “You did well, pet.”

The praise and the affectionate tone were as painful as the blows would have been. Trembling with reaction, Xander bent his head down, the tears beginning to fall. Spike’s hand slid under his chin and raised his head. “Move now,” he said. “And talk if you like.”

“You manipulative bastard!” Xander screamed, bringing his fists around to slam into Spike’s body. Spike let them land on him, wrapping his arms around Xander in an unbreakable embrace. Xander tried to push him away, failed, tried to carry on punching him and couldn’t. They stood for a moment and then the rage ebbed and Xander kissed Spike as he had done in the street, with open, avid lips.

They landed on the bed, in a tangle, desperately trying to have as little space between them as possible, legs scissored, arms pulling each other together so tightly that they couldn’t move or caress, could only kiss until they tasted the same. The kisses moved from frantic to feather light and the grips loosened, letting them fall apart like paper peeled from a candy bar.

They were both hard, their cocks touching as they shifted position, the slight friction almost too much for Xander. Spike, with over a century of lessons in control at his back, couldn’t resist teasing him, running a finger slowly from root to tip and then wrapping his hand around its length, squeezing it firmly before flexing his wrist up and down with a languid, practised motion. Xander’s head went back and he made a sound too visceral to be coherent. “Do that again and I won’t be able to –”

Spike wriggled down the bed, did it again with his tongue in just the right place and dealt with the result without spilling a drop.

“Too...fast,” complained Xander in a breathless whisper.

Spike shrugged. “Want to bet I can’t get you hard again?”

“No. I don’t bet on certainties. My Uncle Rory taught me that.”

“Clever man.” Spike murmured, kissing his way back up until his face was level with Xander’s. “In the minute or two until you’re ready to go again, suppose we think about me? If I remember last time, you owe me.”  His eyes flashed from summer sky to setting sun so quickly that Xander blinked in confusion.

Guilt swamped pleasure and he nodded. “I was going to make a very predictable joke about giving you a helping hand but I’ll make that a little more –” He hesitated, lost for words, and then said simply, “Any way you want it, Spike. You choose.”

Spike growled and changed, the demon fighting its way to the surface. “You sure about that, Xander?”

Xander kept his eyes open and his face calm as he leaned forward to kiss the fanged mouth. Spike waited until he was sure Xander wasn’t going to flinch and let the vampire face sink back. Xander paused then and whispered, “Why did you do that? I would have done it.”

“That’s why,” said Spike. “Oh, there’re plenty of humans who get a kick out of doing it with us in game face the whole time but I don’t figure you for one. Just don’t forget, Xander. Don’t trust me.”

“Choose,” Xander said flatly, ignoring the warning.

Spike studied him for one long moment and then nodded. He twisted around and opened the drawer in the table by the bed, pulling out a tube. Xander guessed what it was and tensed without thinking. Spike paused and raised an eyebrow. “Second thoughts?”

“About a hundred but don’t let that stop you. Really.”

Spike tossed the tube to Xander. “Then you go first and see how it’s done.”

Xander weighed the tube in his hand, not meeting Spike’s eyes. He flicked the top and squeezed a little out onto his fingers, rubbing them together experimentally. Raising his fingers to his nose, he sniffed and then examined the tube again. “’Wild Cherry?” he asked incredulously. “Have you ever heard the saying, ‘funny once’?”

Spike grinned. “I’ll move you up to chocolate raspberry if you like.”

Xander shook his head in disbelief, closed the tube and pushed Spike onto his back. He found that what he had on his fingers was enough to cover Spike’s cock. “I meant you could have me first, you know. Or do you need a refresher course in what goes where?” asked Spike, watching Xander’s fingers sliding over his erection and shuddering slightly with need.

“Nope,” Xander replied, flicking open the tube and handing it to Spike again. “But I think I’ll let you take it from here.”

Spike shrugged. He’d given Xander enough chances and he was too aroused to stop now. Xander swallowed and rolled onto his stomach, spreading his legs slightly. Spike looked at him with a lust that would have terrified Xander if he’d seen it and slipped a slick finger into Xander, gently, carefully until Xander’s legs were wider and his back arching into the bed. When he had taken three fingers, Spike paused. Xander was as ready as he would ever be but he didn’t know whether to leave him like this or give himself the pleasure of watching Xander’s face as he took him. Xander moaned and Spike’s control snapped. Before Xander had chance to panic, Spike had pushed against his opening and slid home in a series of gentle but forceful nudges. Xander cried out but Spike knew what pain sounded like and this wasn’t it. Biting his lip, he rocked slightly, feeling Xander clench around him. He began to move, a series of long, slow thrusts that had Xander’s hands clutching at the sheets as the sensation stopped being an intrusion and became pure pleasure. Spike’s movements increased in speed, his hands on Xander’s hips, holding him still, not letting him push back. “Take it,” he said, “Take it like I did.”

Xander’s eyes were squeezed shut, his world shrunk to the bed, the feel of the bunched up sheets in his fists, against his knees, the nails digging into his flesh and the relentless presence within him. He was sharing his body with someone else and for a moment he wasn’t lonely or left out.  He heard a mewling sound and recognised, dimly, that it came from him. Spike’s hand slapped against his backside, stinging and sharp. “_Now_ you can move. Show me what you’ve got, pet. Scream for me.”

One last surge of defiance as his body responded. “Make me,” Xander panted.

“Well, since you asked so nicely –”

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