Taunt-the-Vampire
by Kay
Spike rolled his eyes as the fifth sigh in as many minutes drifted over from
Xander’s chair. “Something bothering you?” He didn’t want to ask, but it
was either that or listen to the whelp sigh some more and it was beginning
to get irritating. He was sprawled across the couch in the boy’s basement,
waiting for the sun to go the hell down so he could leave.
“I can’t believe she left!”
Ah, so they were going to talk about Anya leaving. Again. “Of course she
left. Who’d stay in Sunnyhell if they could bloody well help it?” He lit a
cigarette and tried to find the remote. Maybe he drown the other man out
with the television.
“Not Sunnydale. I can’t believe she left *me*! Things were going so
well...I was more than half in love with her and thought she felt the same!”
Xander looked up from his chair, eyes dark with confusion. He’d been
going over the break up for the past two weeks, ever since Anya had kissed
him good-bye and left town, leaving the Hellmouth and Xander behind forever.
“She must have been crazy,” Spike said in as bored a voice as he could
manage. The damn remote was nowhere to be found, so he decided to amuse
himself at Xander’s expense. Not like it was anything new, but it was a way
to pass the time. “An exciting guy like you.”
“Hey! I have a lot to offer.”
“Oh, yeah. What woman could resist the chance to help you dust your
Babylon5 collector’s plates?” Spike sniggered, his self-congratulation over
the barb rising as fast as the flush on Xander’s face.
“I’ll have you know that I have plenty to offer a woman.” Xander held up
his hand and began to tick off his statements on his fingers. “I finally
have a good job with a future. I’m funny. I am a pro at pretending to be
interested in girlie conversation about shoes and shopping. I really care
about what a woman is feeling. Usually.” He narrowed his eyes and poked
his finger in the air towards Spike. “And Anya even admitted that I was a
Viking in the sack. How could she walk away from all that?”
Spike felt night descend like a cool balm over his nerves. The sun had set.
About damn time. He stood up, not wanting to sit and play this old game.
He could understand some of the ex-demon’s interest in Xander. The whelp
wasn’t bad looking and his new job was putting some nice muscle on him.
Those big please-hurt-me-now eyes were a definite plus, too. But Anya
wasn’t a demon anymore so she couldn’t really hurt him, could she? What was
the fun in having a toy that one couldn’t play with properly? “I don’t
know, Xander. What is it about you that makes it so very easy to walk away
from you? Your parents did and never looked back. Anya did it without any
effort. Hell, your friends aren’t even keeping you around - you just refuse
to go away.” He pulled on his duster. “I guess that you’re just not a very
interesting game. Play you once, than what’s the point anymore - not even
worth hanging on to for sentimental reasons.” He met Xander’s eyes,
smirking at the tears he could see the whelp fighting so hard to repress.
“Guess you’re just not worth a second go, so they just walk away.”
Spike matched his actions to his words and left, not caring to see the boy’s
final reaction to what he’d said. He had other matters to attend to:
people to mug, demons to kill, alcohol to drink.
*****
Spike staggered a little, waiting for the door to stop jumping around before
he tried his luck at opening it. The mugging had gone very well indeed and
he’d celebrated by getting roaring drunk. He needed somewhere to sleep it
off and he wasn’t going to use his crypt in his current condition. Better
to stay at the whelp’s and sleep it off in relative safety from
vengeance-seeking demons.
It took him a few tries to get inside but he managed it. Uncaring of how
much noise he was making, Spike stomped across the floor and collapsed onto
the couch, ignoring Xander’s sleepy alarm and irritated protests. Closing
his eyes, he tuned the other man out and fell deeply into an alcoholic
sleep.
When he awoke, Spike was immediately grateful, as always, that vampires
didn’t get hangovers. He tried to stretch his arms out and found that he
couldn’t: they were restrained somehow. That realization brought him
completely awake and he raised his head, wanting to find out what the hell
was going on. He couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing: his wrists
and ankles were encircled by manacles, and the chains connected to them ran
over the bed on which he lay and down to the floor. They pulled his arms
and legs spread eagle, and a frantic wrench didn’t do any good. Nothing
budged.
Spike looked around and found that he was still in Xander’s basement. The
whelp was standing beside the bed, staring down at him. “What the hell is
going on here?” Spike demanded.
“You said I wasn’t a very interesting game to play,” the dark-haired man
said quietly. “I don’t think that’s true. Want to play a game, Spike?”
His gaze wandered down the length of Spike’s body then returned upwards to
meet his eyes. “It’s called Taunt-the-Vampire.”
“I’m not interested in games,” Spike said. What the hell was this? He
remembered what he’d said to Xander before he’d left. Was this some sort of
attempt at revenge?
“You will be.” Xander shifted his feet and Spike could see the knife he
held in his hand. Long and razor-edged, its deadly purpose was proclaimed
by its form. Holding it in a surprisingly professional grip, Xander used it
to slice through Spike’s jeans, carefully avoiding the skin as he parted the
material.
“Hey!” Spike yelled. “What the fuck are you doing?” Hearing himself yell
reminded him that Xander didn’t live alone.
Xander apparently read his realization in his eyes. “Don’t bother. They
went out of town for the weekend. Old family tradition: they go out to my
uncle’s place and drink themselves into a stupor there. The change of
scenery spices things up, I guess.” He returned his attention to slicing
Spike’s clothing apart. The vampire was soon divested of everything, left
naked and exposed on top of the bed. Xander put the knife down on the bed
beside Spike and then pulled off his own t-shirt.
Spike tried to figure out what sort of game Xander was playing at. This
wasn’t the whelp he knew. He looked longingly at the knife, so close and
yet so impossibly far. He switched his attention to Xander and watched
disbelievingly as the other man stripped completely. Xander had put on
muscle and it looked good, damn good. Not good enough to make Spike forget
about the chains, though. “What’s this, then? You’ve finally figured out
the only way your ever going to be able to keep someone is by chaining them
down so they can’t run away?”
Xander shook his head as he leaned over Spike and shoved a couple of pillows
beneath his head so the vampire could look down the length of his own body.
“It’s part of the game.” He climbed onto the bed and knelt up between
Spike’s parted thighs, careful not to actually touch him.
“If this is going to take long, could you turn on the telly? Just so I’ll
have something interesting to watch.” No need to let the whelp know that he
was just a little intrigued, just a little effected by the heat he could
feel pouring off the naked flesh so close to his own.
“I think you’ll like this better than the television.” Xander reached out
and picked up the knife. Spike felt an instant of apprehension, but that
was obliterated by incredulity as he watched Xander deliberately drag the
blade across his skin in a straight line just below his collar bone. Blood
welled up thickly from the shallow wound in a line that grew fat and darkly
red beneath Spike’s gaze. Still holding the knife, Xander reached up with
his other hand and trailed his finger through the thick liquid. He smeared
it down in a short line to the nipple below. He gasped a little as he
rubbed his fingers over the nub, which peaked under the attention. Xander
pulled at it roughly and his hips bucked involuntarily as his cock began to
harden. He gathered up more blood and repeated the action with the other
nipple, head lolling back slightly as he aroused himself through the wet
touches.
Spike licked suddenly dry lips. He could smell Xander’s blood, the scent
mixed in with the other man’s arousal. He wanted to taste that blood, rend
Xander’s flesh until it gushed into his mouth so he could drink deep and
quell the thirst that was abruptly raging within him. The scent of Xander’s
want effected him as well: he also wanted to force the whelp down on the
bed and bury himself in that warm body again and again. His own erection
began to fill as he was unable, unwilling, to look away from the display
before him.
Xander raised the knife once more and traced a thin line over the delicate
skin above his hip, then another across his thigh on the opposite leg. In
doing the second cut he flicked the knife a little, causing a few drops of
blood to land on Spike’s leg.
They burned the vampire’s skin, the heat and the life within them calling to
him while he was unable to do anything but stare helplessly at them.
Panting, drawing in quick breaths unnecessarily but incapable of stopping,
Spike strained uselessly at his bonds, the need to touch Xander growing
within him.
As blood welled up from the two new cuts, Xander placed the knife on the
bed, then carefully caught the liquid in his cupped palms. He moved his
bloody hands to his erection and began to stroke himself leisurely, hips
thrusting lazily as his cock slipped wetly through his encircling hands.
Spike groaned, his own hips mirroring the motion of Xander’s. He wanted to
feel those hands on him, wanted to shove Xander on his back and lick the
blood from his skin then suck him until he came screaming in Spike’s mouth.
He wanted to fuck Xander and at the same time drain him dry. His desire
pushed him beyond his ability to control himself and he vamped out, panting
while in game face as he tugged uselessly at the chains.
Xander continued to pump himself with one hand while he picked up the knife
with the other. He pulled the knife over his shoulder than dropped it back
down on the bed. He coated his index finger in blood, then reached around
behind himself. His eyes slipped closed and he groaned, a sound of mixed
need and satisfaction.
Spike echoed it with his own desperate moan as he realized what Xander was
doing - using his own blood as lubricant as his thrust his finger inside of
himself. An inarticulate whine of need hitched out of his chest with every
panted breath.
As his strokes increased in speed, sounds of pleasure began to pour forth
from Xander, growing more frantic the faster he pumped himself. He came
with a strangled cry, his seed spraying forth to coat his hand, the bed
sheets, and Spike’s belly.
Spike cried out as well, eyes fixed on the thick liquid, the denial of which
was killing him. He had to have it, had to taste it intermixed with
Xander’s blood before taking the other man and fucking him senseless. His
erection throbbing with frustrated need, he jerked mindlessly at the chains,
fighting them with all his strength but to no avail. Movement from Xander
drew his attention back to the other man.
Xander raised one of his hands to his mouth and slowly licked his fingers
clean of blood and semen. His eyes opened and he seemed to take in Spike’s
situation for the first time. With a queer little smile he removed all his
fingers but the middle from his mouth. Gaze locked on Spike’s, he bit down
hard on the tip, teeth tearing into his own flesh. As the blood began to
flow, he stretched out his arm and held the finger over Spike’s needy flesh.
The blood welled into a drop which soon grew fat. It clung to Xander’s
finger for a moment, then it fell.
Spike could feel it hit his erection, feel it slide thickly over the skin of
his cock, feel its burning heat and seductive life and it was enough. He
came with a scream, arching off the bed as far as he was able before
darkness filled his vision and he knew no more.
*****
Spike groaned as he woke up, feeling disoriented and oddly worn out. The
memory of what had happened the last time he’d awakened forced him to full
awareness. This time he was unbound, lying on Xander’s couch. It could
have been a dream...but that didn’t explain why he felt like he’d just gone
ten rounds with a Fyarl demon.
It also didn’t explain why he was naked.
He sat up quickly and looked around the room. Within seconds he had spotted
Xander: the other man was in the kitchen, finishing up the preparation of a
sandwich. He looked the same way he always did, as if nothing unusual had
happened earlier.
Xander looked up at him. “Thought you’d never wake up. I have to get over
to Giles’s: prophecy, apocalypse, yadda yadda yadda, don’t forget to bring
a snack.” He glanced at his watch. “Sun should be down in an hour, but
you’re not expected at the meeting.” He put the finishing touches on the
sandwich and shoved it into a paper bag.
“What the hell happened?” Spike demanded. He spotted a pile of his clothing
on the floor and began to pull them on. He never liked arguing naked.
“What, earlier?” Xander wiped off the counter. “I thought I told you. We
were playing a game.” He put a six-pack of soda on the counter beside the
bag. “I thought you enjoyed yourself.”
“Damn right I did,” Spike admitted before he could stop himself. He was
completely confused. Xander was acting like nothing had happened, as if he
hadn’t chained Spike to a bed and made him come without ever really touching
him. What fucked up alternative universe was this and how the hell had
Spike fallen into it. A question bubbled out of him on its own: “Can we
play again?”
Xander stopped checking himself for his wallet and keys and raised an
eyebrow. “I don’t know, Spike. It’s like you said - people get tired of
playing with me pretty fast. I wouldn’t want you getting bored with me.”
“Bored?” Spike echoed, still not quite sure what was happening.
“What am I thinking? You were probably bored the whole time. Look, I
appreciate you offering to play again, but I’m not going to accept anyone’s
pity, especially not yours.”
“It isn’t pity-”
“Don’t bother. I don’t want to hear it. You made yourself perfectly clear
last night: I’m not worth playing with.” His voice was level but there was
a strange mocking undercurrent to it. Xander opened the door. “I’ll be at
the meeting. Maybe we’ll let you know if the world’s going to end.” With a
malicious little wave he was gone.
Spike was left alone and confused and frustrated and angry and suspecting
that the whelp had managed to get the better of him.
He began plotting his revenge.
*****
