FIC: Reflections 12: Compensations (contd.) NC17
Details as for previous post Reflections 12
Spike propped the mirror up on the dressing table. He hadn’t made a big show of looking into it when Angel had given it to him; but now he stared at his reflection, turning his head this way and that, trying to cover every angle. In a way, he was surprised not to see his old self, William Bennett, looking back at him, as he had the last time he’d seen his own reflection. But what he saw - the look he’d chosen - didn’t displease him. “Never have smudged eyeliner again,” he said thoughtfully.
Riley came up behind Spike and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his cheek against Spike’s so that they were framed together.
“Didn’t realize how hot we look together,” Spike said softly. “No wonder we get girls’ knickers wet.”
“Please, stop!” Riley begged him.
Spike smiled. Experimentally he vamped out and then changed back. He’d seen his vamp-face in photographs, many years ago, but he’d forgotten how different it was. How alien. Yet Riley Finn could look on this face - this fanged and distorted mask - and call it ‘beautiful’. He could scarcely believe it, though he’d once thought the same about Drusilla’s true face.
Half to himself, he murmured, “Dru would have loved this.”
“What do you think will happen to her?”
“Happen to her?” The question seemed odd - out of the blue - and Spike was a little thrown.
“Will she be okay? I mean, she didn’t seem that … competent. Don’t you worry about her?”
Spike laughed. “She may seem like a little lost girl sometimes - and sometimes she is - but she’s older and wilier than I am Riley. Sure, she’ll be okay. She’ll wander about, mope a bit, kill a few people, shag a few demons, possibly the other way round an’ all. She’ll probably hook up with Darla again ... World’s smaller than you might think. You always bump into people …”
Riley nuzzled into his neck. “But you miss her don’t you?”
Spike closed his eyes. “I’d put her out of my mind - almost forgotten - till I came back here. I just wish … I wish she could be happy. But you’ve seen her - she’s insane. Kind of stuff that makes her happy … well, I don’t know if she ever really is. Like I said: insane. Not her fault. But I couldn’t think of going back to that … that life: with her. Not now.” Spike’s voice went quiet. “Even if you left me …”
“Never happen,” Riley said swiftly, then turned away in frustration. “God! Why can’t everything just be okay for everyone?” He turned back and took Spike by the shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “But you can, right? Be happy? With me? Always?”
Spike looked back at him unflinching. “I’m sure of it. You’re the one, Riley. Dru, Angelus - they chose me. I never really had any say in the matter, and even then I was always second or third in line. But you and me? We chose each other. S’gonna work out for us; I know it.”
He kissed Riley then on the mouth, and when he pulled away, Riley tugged him back into his arms for more of that sweet reassurance.
When at last, they broke off, Spike said; “So, what d’you think?”
Riley looked at him, a little dazed. “When you kiss me, I know I have to be the luckiest guy in the world.”
Spike blinked, shaking his head, amused, but glowing nevertheless at how free Riley was with his compliments. “Not about that, love,” he said gently, rubbing Riley’s cheek with his thumb. “About Angel’s big idea: both of us working for AI in the winter?”
Riley’s mouth quirked down at the corners. “I don’t know Spike.” He rubbed a hand over his chin. “There’s things about him I can’t stomach -”
“Join the club!” Spike interjected.
“But I think he’s on our side now: finally. I oughta give him credit for finding someone to get the chip out, even if it was Angleman. And there’s no way I could have got you out of that place without his help.”
Riley paused, weighing things up.
“We worked pretty smoothly together, and he seems to be doing good work here from what Wes has told me. So I guess if my Dad can spare me … I definitely have skills AI can use, and at least we’d be together. Be able to watch each other’s backs.” He turned away a little. “And I can’t ask you not to see him, I know that now. It’d be like me not seeing my Mom ever again.”
“Hey!”
“Well, I don’t know how to describe what you and Angel have: your … thing. I just know I feel like second-best whenever he’s in the room. I think that’s why I did what I did: before … lost control.”
Spike kissed him again. “You’re never second best.”
When they broke for air, Spike said softly, “Just so you know, it’s not all one way. Green-eyed monster still gets to me too: all the time. Try not to let it, but I can’t help it.”
“Truly?” Riley asked breathlessly. “Who do you have to be jealous of?” He paused, considering the limited possibilities. “Not Wesley?”
Spike shook his head.
“Todd, I know …” Riley tried again. “But I thought you guys were buddies now - thought you were over that.”
“I am. We are buddies. It’s not Todd.”
“Who then?”
“S’gonna sound daft,” Spike said, avoiding Riley’s gaze.
“Tell me,” Riley insisted, tipping Spike’s chin back; but Spike still looked away, still evaded him.
“You’ll laugh at me.”
“I promise I won’t laugh.” Riley let go of him, stepped back, crossed his heart then snapped a Boy Scout salute.
Finally, still unable to look Riley in the face, Spike confessed, “Of … your horses.”
~~
“My horses!” Riley spluttered, accidentally treading on Spike’s foot and almost breaking his promise not to laugh.
“Ow!”
“God, I’m sorry, I just … my horses, Spike?”
“And your dog,” Spike said quickly, wincing at the admission.
Riley tried to school his features which he feared were portraying a mixture of confusion, horror and, yes, amusement.
“Why, in God’s name would you be jealous of a dog and a few horses? I don’t make out with …” He shook his head. “Why am I even saying that?” He held Spike’s face between his hands, and said sincerely, “Spike I love you more than Jess, and more than my horses, all of ‘em put together, honest to God. You gotta know that.”
“I know.” Spike sighed. “Told you it was daft,” he said, shame-faced.
Worried, Riley asked, “You want me to stop seeing … now that just sounds wrong.” He wiped a hand over his mouth. “What I mean is, should I get someone else on the farm to take care of them? Or … or even find new homes for ‘em?” He prayed Spike would say, ‘No’, because either way it’d be like losing a limb. “I could … if you really want me too.”
“Good God, no!” Spike said hastily. “Consign your pets to the outer darkness just ‘cos I’m a bloody idiot? No, mate. I know it’s fuckin’ stupid, okay? It’s just that -” he made a frustrated hand-movement, dismissing his own foolishness - “sometimes, when you go riding, or when you’re playing with Jess outside in the yard, I just … I just feel left out, I guess. Then I get all twisted up inside, because I must be a right selfish cunt to want to keep you hanging around in darkened rooms, when you belong out there, where life’s happening. You deserve better than that … better than me.”
“Please, don’t say that; don’t even think it.”
“And the way you are around them - the way you touch them - so comfortable: like you own them. I mean, I know you do own them, but … you used to be like that with me.” Spike rubbed his eyes. “I want that back.”
Riley felt a lump rising in his throat.
“Had this dream once: we were doing it … makin’ love out in the fields. It was just so …” Spike looked away.
Trying hard to buck him up, Riley said, “Well, we can do that. Not in the daylight, but we can go out at night and … fool around -” He rubbed Spike’s temple with his knuckles - “summer nights, when it’s warm out. I know a place we could go.” He looked down on Spike with concern. The guy really threw him for a loop sometimes. “I can’t believe you. You’ll be saying next that you’re jealous of the cornfields because I fertilise them.”
Riley was laughing when he said it, but Spike didn’t take it as a joke. Very correct, very English all of a sudden, like when they first met, he took Riley’s hand and planted a kiss on his wrist. “I would never tell you that,” he said. He looked up at Riley, from under his lashes. “I’d never tell you that I’m jealous of the sun because it kisses your face every morning -”
Spike brushed a kiss on Riley’s lips and then pushed his hands under Riley’s tee-shirt, and looked at him with a question in his eyes before pulling the garment over Riley’s head.
“I’d be ashamed to reveal how much I envy the wind ruffling your hair; no real man says that stuff.” Spike combed lazy fingers through Riley’s hair where he’d left it disturbed.
Riley just listened, wide-eyed, and a little hypnotised.
“I’d never admit that I’m jealous of the land - the State of Iowa - because your feet are caressing it all day long as you do your chores …”
Spike knelt on the floor and began removing Riley’s boots and socks, from the left foot, then the right.
“Oh God -” Riley had to fight for breath at seeing Spike’s back bent before him.
“… that I envy the soil, taking the place where I deserve to be, where I belong: crushed under the heel of your boot.”
“Don’t say that -”
Riley felt Spike’s lips - cool - on his instep, and then the soles of his feet.
“No …” Riley moaned softly: “Oh no, don’t …” but he could make no move to prevent him.
“I’m not the least bit jealous of the gear-stick of your truck, when your hand just gives it the briefest caress - yes, I’ve seen you do it - before you slip it in so smooth and sure …”
Spike’s voice was deep and dirty and full of promise, and he looked up at Riley with desperate hunger, as he went to work on Riley’s jeans, pulling the belt free and nearly ripping the zip as his urgency grew.
Through gritted teeth, he said, “It’s a closely guarded secret that I’m jealous of the water when you take a shower -”
He dragged Riley’s jeans off and flung them away, getting between his knees, and thrusting his middle finger into Riley’s mouth, working it round.
“- because it gets in all the nooks and crannies I can’t get into: that’s just crude.”
“Crude can be good,” Riley said breathlessly. He put one foot up on the bed, so that Spike could do whatever he wanted, and moaned appreciatively as Spike used him without mercy: teased his hole and thrust a finger - the finger that had been in his mouth moments before - thrust it into him, sending his core into meltdown.
Then Spike took it away and Riley had to take small breaths to get control as Spike stroked softly behind his sac, and murmured, “I’m insanely jealous of the air in your lungs and the blood in your veins because they keep you alive - something I can never give you: and that’s just perverse.”
“Perverse is okay,” Riley said vaguely, his eyes glazing with lust.
Spike’s low patter of foolish words and phrases meant nothing and everything - touching him, turning him on just as surely as Spike’s hands - and Riley already felt he could drill concrete with his dick when Spike took hold of it, rubbing the bridge of his nose against the shaft. He felt the head of his prick grazing Spike’s brow and lashes, nudging into the hollows around Spike’s eye, and against the soft resistance of his eyelid - God, it was too much - and even with Spike’s hand holding him back, it nearly blew his top. He loosed a harsh cry and willed himself not to come, and Spike moaned, close to spilling as well.
Spike held still for a moment, breathing heavily.
Riley closed his eyes, just holding on; then his restrained cock was in Spike’s mouth, being mauled with tongue and teeth. He whimpered helplessly.
Slowly, Spike dragged his lips up Riley’s length, let it slip out, and said, “I’d never tell you any of that …” He mouthed the tip with soft lips, looking up at Riley, abashed - almost fearful - as he murmured - “because if you knew how much I need you, want you, you’d get on that big horse of yours, and gallop away as fast as you could.”
“You’re forgetting something,” Riley gasped, holding up his left hand: the one with Spike’s ring on it. “There’s nothing about you I don’t know.”
Spike took a deep breath. “Lucky for me then: I don’t have to say a word. You won’t make me confess; tell you what I need; won’t make me beg for it; you wouldn’t do that to me …”
Riley bit his lip, coming down to earth. “Oh. Yeah … I … I don’t know Spike …”
“But …”
Spike didn’t say, ‘You promised’: he didn’t have to. Riley felt Spike’s grip on him slacken, and suddenly that wasn’t a problem any more. Spike’s face, blank with disappointment, would have been enough to make Riley feel sick inside, even if he didn’t have a hotline to Spike’s heart.
“I know. I promised. And I’m trying, really. But are you sure you’re ready? After everything …” He was clutching at straws now - Spike’s need was like a tiger, fretting against its chains in the corner of the room.
“You know I am,” Spike choked out, his face wild and desperate now. “Riley, please … You gotta stop treating me like I’m made out of sugar. I need you to … need you to stop it. I’m not a bloody china doll.” He glanced regretfully at Riley’s softening cock. “Not sayin’ it isn’t a monster, but it doesn’t scare me any.”
The bitterness in Spike’s voice was chilling. Riley covered himself with his hands. “It’s me,” he said. “I’m the one who’s afraid … of how I felt - when … that time …” He dropped his gaze. “I’m scared of myself. What I might do. And you’re right: I am jealous, even now -” he confessed - “jealous of Angel.”
There. He’d said it again. Maybe if he said it often enough it would lose its power over him. “I’m trying to fight it. I hate feeling like this. I want to be a big man about it, but it’s hard; and if I let myself remember that you …” He swallowed, hard. “That he …” He looked up, willing Spike to understand. “I’m scared I might lose it again. I don’t wanna be the bad guy, Spike.”
“You’re not the bad guy,” Spike said, low and determined. “You’re not even close to being the bad guy. I’ve seen the bad guy and had to deal with the bad guy, and yeah, I’ve been him too. You’re not him. That thing you did to me - the thing you’re flogging your conscience over? It was nothing. Nothing to some of the things I’ve had done to me: and done to others. And you bein’ like this - it’s confusin’. It’s makin’ me feel … I don’t know -” Spike shook his head as though an insect was buzzing in his ear - “weird. Like I’m supposed to feel guilty about stuff I did before I met you; before I changed. That’s Angel’s gig, not mine, and it’s a waste of time: doesn’t make any of it better. Don’t make me be that way.”
Riley took this in with a feeling of utter bewilderment. He’d been making Spike feel guilty? It was crazy: so crazy that even with the ring, he’d missed it.
Spike had got up and begun pacing and gesticulating. “You want me to tell you that you did a bad thing? Okay, you did. Yeah, you were rough with me: rougher than I like: made me bleed. But if you want to know where that came on a badness scale of one to ten? I’d give it a three.”
Riley blinked, shocked both at what Spike said and the casual way he’d said it.
“And you know what? If you can’t help it - if you lose it a little bit sometimes - or even if you want to do me like that - even if it’s every time? I’ll take it.” Spike’s voice quavered. “So long as you love me, I’ll take it, rough like that; because it’s better than not having you at all.”
As he watched Spike dig around in the nightstand and with shaking hands, find and light a cigarette, Riley felt so much love welling up in his chest it almost choked him. He couldn’t have got a word out at that moment if his life depended on it.
“Know what really hurt? Knowing that you thought I was trash. And that wasn’t the real you; I know it wasn’t. I know it. So you can either stay on your pedestal of self-flagellation, taking me along on your little guilt-trip, or you can get down, and give it another go - do us both a favour.”
Riley swallowed again, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t go away.
“You got no cause to worry anyway: I can defend myself now, don’t forget,” Spike pointed the cigarette at Riley. “I wouldn’t: wouldn’t ever fight you. But I could.”
“But if I went so far that I pushed you into that -” Riley pleaded - “if you had to stop me by force; I don’t know if I could ever look at myself in the mirror, or even trust myself to be with you again.” He ducked his head apologetically. “And you might not even want me to if I had a big scraggly beard.”
Spike made ‘huh?’ face.
“Can’t shave without looking in a mirror,” Riley explained lamely.
Spike snorted, and sat down on the bed, with his head lowered almost between his knees. After a moment he spoke again, more kindly. “I love all the other stuff: teasing, foreplay, sucking you off: can do it all night, you know that. But we have to get over this.” He chewed on his thumbnail and muttered, “You’ve not been the same since Cleveland. Since you saw … what you saw. Me, like that. Feel like you must think I’m … spoiled or something … down there ...”
“No!” Riley dropped to his knees in front of Spike, looking up into his face. “I told you before, that’s not it. You’re not … never! God, Spike. It’s me: I’m just so fucked up -”
“I know you still want me,” Spike cut in. “In my head, I know it. But I need to feel it.”
Riley stroked Spike’s forearm tentatively. “Oh, I want you. Want you too much.” He sighed deeply. “I had good intentions.” He got up and went to his coat where it lay on a chair, and pulled a bottle out of the pocket. “See? I didn’t plan to freak out like this.”
Spike took the bottle. “’Fun Flavoured Heating Lotion. Take your partner to the heights of ecstasy and beyond.’ You always do that …” A smile played across his lips. “’Passion Fruit’: adventurous: for you ...” he said.
The teasing was feeble, but it was better than the desperation that Riley had felt coming off Spike in waves a few minutes before. A little cheered; a little reassured, Riley shrugged. “Well, what kind of man would I be if I was too chicken to go into “The Pleasure Chest” and buy a bottle of sensual, lubricating massage-oil if I want?”
Spike hooded his eyes. “What kind of man would be brave enough to buy it and too chicken to use it?” he said, quickly stripping off, and crawling onto the bed. “Come on. We had an appointment, remember? Doesn’t do for the masseur to let his client get a chill.”
~~
Riley’s weight bore down on his thighs, and Spike gave a satisfied grunt. That was better. The massage lotion was cold as Riley trickled it down his spine, but warmed as soon as those knowing hands started working it into his shoulders, loosening the tension in his neck, even rubbing it up into his hair as Riley massaged his scalp.
A rumble of pleasure rose in Spike’s throat, but the fragrance was soon overpowering.
“I’m gonna smell like a Turkish knocking shop,” he grumbled good-naturedly.
“A Turkish what?” Riley said, mystified.
Spike groaned, amused and exasperated in equal measure. “Sometimes just opening my mouth makes me feel like I’m from another planet.”
“I’ll bet it’s one of those quirky British innuendo things isn’t it?” Riley said, pressing him into the mattress. “You know, it’s not fair to make fun of me, just because I’m an ignorant American.” He ran both thumbs firmly down Spike’s vertebrae, from his neck right down to the tailbone: first together, then one following the other so that the sensation kept rolling through, like waves on a shore.
Spike squirmed luxuriously. Better: much better. Riley was relaxing, humming soothingly to himself: probably didn’t even know he was doing it. Having something to do with his hands was distracting him, as Spike had hoped it would.
As he was stroked and pampered, Spike imagined himself Riley’s horse: not the big lanky grey, but the little chestnut job with the compact body and quick turns. The one Riley said was a quarter-horse.
‘So, what -’ he’d asked Riley innocently - ‘are the other three-quarters? Duck-billed platypus? Racing pigeon, perhaps? Kipper?’ and Riley had laughed and said, ‘Stop messin’ with me! I know what a kipper is!’ - and cuffed the back of his head.
Spike smiled into the pillow, thinking what it would be like - how fine it would be - to stand out in the yard, having his hide buffed and polished by one who owned him - loved him - until it shone in the sunlight. Arching and stretching, he thrust his dick impatiently against the sheets as Riley worked his hands up and down his spine. No wonder Riley’s horses loved him; would do anything for him; jump the gates of Hell for him, if he asked it of them.
Riley shifted around so he was still sitting astride Spike, but facing away from his head. He leaned and reached and started rubbing Spike’s feet, and it tickled and at first Spike bore it stoically, but when it stopped he could hardly bear it. As the hands worked their way up his calves and pressed behind his knees, he felt Riley’s cock, hard once more, sliding the wrong way along his cleft, and he shifted, raising his hips a little to feel more of it.
At last, Riley’s hands reached the insides of his thighs, and he dared spread himself a little, inviting more; hope and fear and desire stripping away what little pride he had left. Tears welled in his eyes.
In answer to his silent prayer, those hands slid higher, and as if by accident, Riley eased a finger - still slick with oil - inside him. He bit back a sob. Riley’s nervous exhalation told Spike how hard this was for him, so he just rasped gratefully, “Yeah ... more of that mate.”
“Sure?” Riley said, half-kidding, half-uncertain himself. Riley’s breathing was still anxious, stuttering, so when Spike felt the finger withdrawn, he made no protest.
He hadn’t been able to stop himself piling on the pressure - way too much pressure - and now, though he ached so badly to feel it inside him - that gorgeous cock that was slapping teasingly against him - he was anxious not to say or do anything to spook Riley. But his skin was on fire with borrowed heat, and when Riley sawed the edge of his hand between his buttocks, grazing his hole, Spike spread himself wider, wriggling and pressing back onto it, softly murmuring, “Please, Riley ... do me, oh, God, please ...”
He pushed up onto his knees - couldn’t help it - and Riley, forced to dismount, shuffled round behind Spike and grunted appreciatively.
Spike shuddered.
Must look a right little whore: presenting himself like this. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, but the image was still there, and drew a desperate moan from his chest, but he arched his back, offering more, spreading himself wider.
Riley just carried on massaging the magic lotion into his arse, making approving noises in his throat. Riley usually liked to see his face, but on this occasion it seemed that what he saw - Spike, on his knees, open for him, straining towards him - pleased him very greatly. He weighed Spike’s balls in his palm, rolling and caressing them, and taking his own sweet time about it, before reaching underneath to take Spike’s cock in hand, frustrating it with slight pressure.
As Spike thrust into his hand, Riley breeched him again; two fingers this time, crooked to hit the spot. Pressing back, Spike heard the wordless sounds of his own need amplified in his head, and bowed his head in shame.
Riley petted his flank, his thighs. “Shhh. It’s okay, I’ll get there,” he said a little breathlessly. “I will.” He slid a warm hand along Spike’s cock, almost up to the head, then tantalizingly removed it.
The strangled whimper from Spike must have been what he wanted to hear, because he did it again, over and over again, without mercy, and Spike was grunting with the effort - to come or not to, even he didn’t know which - when Riley finally rolled the head in his hand.
Fuck.
“Hold … hold off love,” Spike gasped. “Gonna be over before -” but he couldn’t resist dropping his head and watching Riley’s hand on his cock and he jerked helplessly into that hand and whined again.
“Doesn’t matter,” Riley said, reassuring. “We don’t have any place to go.”
But it did matter. Suddenly, it felt as though there was just one chance to get things right.
Spike willed himself not to come; even as Riley parted his cheeks, blowing warm breath over him; even as it felt like Riley must have three hands; as he rhythmically stroked half-circles around Spike’s entrance, making him shake and dragging high ragged cries from him; as his expert fingers cupped and squeezed Spike’s balls; as his palms spread him wider still, making his deprivation the greater - Oh! - even as Spike became a hot gaping void, starving for something, anything, and then he was almost begging; “Riley, please, fuck … God, oh, God … please, fuck -”
A high, strangled whimper and he fell silent; couldn’t say it - ‘please fuck me’ - just couldn’t; because if the answer this time was ‘no’ …
And then; nothing: no hands, no words, no reassurance, and it seemed like forever he was left untouched, exposed, not knowing, and suspended in nothingness, straining for anything that might let him hope - was that a bottle being opened? Was Riley preparing himself?
Yes. Oh, yes.
Firm warm hands parted him - yes - and Riley covered and penetrated him, sliding home, hot and slick and vital, and Spike groaned, clenched around him and came in great juddering spurts, crying out the relief that flooded through him, his throat sore, his muscles straining to stop himself collapsing.
“Bloody hell,” he said quietly, when he’d finished - distressed to have come so soon, and Riley still hard and unsatisfied inside him. “Sorry …”
But Riley gentled him, holding him close; he rolled so that they were lying spooned on their sides, and brushed the hair off Spike’s brow, making soothing sounds until Spike had stopped shaking. Then he rocked into him, taking him slowly, patiently, holding off and holding off, moving just enough to hit that spot over and over until Spike was hard once more, and only then did he take his own pleasure, and give Spike his again.
When Riley slid out, Spike lay exhausted, with his arms over his face.
Riley touched him tentatively. “Are you … was it okay?”
Spike almost laughed, almost choked. “Yes, God, yes, it was okay: more than okay.”
He felt weak: confessional. “I’m such an idiot … makin’ all that fuss. Should have known … but I thought … dunno. Was scared I guess. I know it’s not been that long: a few days. But I didn’t think … half-believed we were never gonna do it - this - again, I’d never have you inside me again. Couldn’t bear it; but I couldn’t have blamed you if I’d scared you off with all this carryin’ on.” He shook his head. “Tried … doin’ myself … with -”
“Not that stake!” Riley said, horrified.
“Bloody hell, no! But with … other stuff. Candle. Bottles of …”
Fucking shut up, Spike, stop embarrassing yourself.
“… you don’t need to know. It’s not the same. Takes away the element of surprise you know?” He bit his lower lip ruefully. “Half the time I know what I’m gonna do next …”
“God, Spike I’m so sorry.” Riley pulled Spike back into his arms, and put his chin on Spike’s shoulder. “Only half the time?” he said quizzically.
“Pretty unpredictable, huh?” Spike made a noise that was part laugh, part sob. Sore and vulnerable, he feared he was about to cry for real; just cry his sodding eyes out. Which was stupid. Everything was going to be okay now.
Maybe that was why.
The chip was out, he’d got his man back, and soon - very soon - they could pack up and get on the road, just the two of them.
He could hardly wait.
He turned around and clung to Riley, buried his head in the crook of the big man’s neck, and said quietly, “Is it home time yet?”
~~
TBC: One chapter to go!
Spike propped the mirror up on the dressing table. He hadn’t made a big show of looking into it when Angel had given it to him; but now he stared at his reflection, turning his head this way and that, trying to cover every angle. In a way, he was surprised not to see his old self, William Bennett, looking back at him, as he had the last time he’d seen his own reflection. But what he saw - the look he’d chosen - didn’t displease him. “Never have smudged eyeliner again,” he said thoughtfully.
Riley came up behind Spike and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his cheek against Spike’s so that they were framed together.
“Didn’t realize how hot we look together,” Spike said softly. “No wonder we get girls’ knickers wet.”
“Please, stop!” Riley begged him.
Spike smiled. Experimentally he vamped out and then changed back. He’d seen his vamp-face in photographs, many years ago, but he’d forgotten how different it was. How alien. Yet Riley Finn could look on this face - this fanged and distorted mask - and call it ‘beautiful’. He could scarcely believe it, though he’d once thought the same about Drusilla’s true face.
Half to himself, he murmured, “Dru would have loved this.”
“What do you think will happen to her?”
“Happen to her?” The question seemed odd - out of the blue - and Spike was a little thrown.
“Will she be okay? I mean, she didn’t seem that … competent. Don’t you worry about her?”
Spike laughed. “She may seem like a little lost girl sometimes - and sometimes she is - but she’s older and wilier than I am Riley. Sure, she’ll be okay. She’ll wander about, mope a bit, kill a few people, shag a few demons, possibly the other way round an’ all. She’ll probably hook up with Darla again ... World’s smaller than you might think. You always bump into people …”
Riley nuzzled into his neck. “But you miss her don’t you?”
Spike closed his eyes. “I’d put her out of my mind - almost forgotten - till I came back here. I just wish … I wish she could be happy. But you’ve seen her - she’s insane. Kind of stuff that makes her happy … well, I don’t know if she ever really is. Like I said: insane. Not her fault. But I couldn’t think of going back to that … that life: with her. Not now.” Spike’s voice went quiet. “Even if you left me …”
“Never happen,” Riley said swiftly, then turned away in frustration. “God! Why can’t everything just be okay for everyone?” He turned back and took Spike by the shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “But you can, right? Be happy? With me? Always?”
Spike looked back at him unflinching. “I’m sure of it. You’re the one, Riley. Dru, Angelus - they chose me. I never really had any say in the matter, and even then I was always second or third in line. But you and me? We chose each other. S’gonna work out for us; I know it.”
He kissed Riley then on the mouth, and when he pulled away, Riley tugged him back into his arms for more of that sweet reassurance.
When at last, they broke off, Spike said; “So, what d’you think?”
Riley looked at him, a little dazed. “When you kiss me, I know I have to be the luckiest guy in the world.”
Spike blinked, shaking his head, amused, but glowing nevertheless at how free Riley was with his compliments. “Not about that, love,” he said gently, rubbing Riley’s cheek with his thumb. “About Angel’s big idea: both of us working for AI in the winter?”
Riley’s mouth quirked down at the corners. “I don’t know Spike.” He rubbed a hand over his chin. “There’s things about him I can’t stomach -”
“Join the club!” Spike interjected.
“But I think he’s on our side now: finally. I oughta give him credit for finding someone to get the chip out, even if it was Angleman. And there’s no way I could have got you out of that place without his help.”
Riley paused, weighing things up.
“We worked pretty smoothly together, and he seems to be doing good work here from what Wes has told me. So I guess if my Dad can spare me … I definitely have skills AI can use, and at least we’d be together. Be able to watch each other’s backs.” He turned away a little. “And I can’t ask you not to see him, I know that now. It’d be like me not seeing my Mom ever again.”
“Hey!”
“Well, I don’t know how to describe what you and Angel have: your … thing. I just know I feel like second-best whenever he’s in the room. I think that’s why I did what I did: before … lost control.”
Spike kissed him again. “You’re never second best.”
When they broke for air, Spike said softly, “Just so you know, it’s not all one way. Green-eyed monster still gets to me too: all the time. Try not to let it, but I can’t help it.”
“Truly?” Riley asked breathlessly. “Who do you have to be jealous of?” He paused, considering the limited possibilities. “Not Wesley?”
Spike shook his head.
“Todd, I know …” Riley tried again. “But I thought you guys were buddies now - thought you were over that.”
“I am. We are buddies. It’s not Todd.”
“Who then?”
“S’gonna sound daft,” Spike said, avoiding Riley’s gaze.
“Tell me,” Riley insisted, tipping Spike’s chin back; but Spike still looked away, still evaded him.
“You’ll laugh at me.”
“I promise I won’t laugh.” Riley let go of him, stepped back, crossed his heart then snapped a Boy Scout salute.
Finally, still unable to look Riley in the face, Spike confessed, “Of … your horses.”
~~
“My horses!” Riley spluttered, accidentally treading on Spike’s foot and almost breaking his promise not to laugh.
“Ow!”
“God, I’m sorry, I just … my horses, Spike?”
“And your dog,” Spike said quickly, wincing at the admission.
Riley tried to school his features which he feared were portraying a mixture of confusion, horror and, yes, amusement.
“Why, in God’s name would you be jealous of a dog and a few horses? I don’t make out with …” He shook his head. “Why am I even saying that?” He held Spike’s face between his hands, and said sincerely, “Spike I love you more than Jess, and more than my horses, all of ‘em put together, honest to God. You gotta know that.”
“I know.” Spike sighed. “Told you it was daft,” he said, shame-faced.
Worried, Riley asked, “You want me to stop seeing … now that just sounds wrong.” He wiped a hand over his mouth. “What I mean is, should I get someone else on the farm to take care of them? Or … or even find new homes for ‘em?” He prayed Spike would say, ‘No’, because either way it’d be like losing a limb. “I could … if you really want me too.”
“Good God, no!” Spike said hastily. “Consign your pets to the outer darkness just ‘cos I’m a bloody idiot? No, mate. I know it’s fuckin’ stupid, okay? It’s just that -” he made a frustrated hand-movement, dismissing his own foolishness - “sometimes, when you go riding, or when you’re playing with Jess outside in the yard, I just … I just feel left out, I guess. Then I get all twisted up inside, because I must be a right selfish cunt to want to keep you hanging around in darkened rooms, when you belong out there, where life’s happening. You deserve better than that … better than me.”
“Please, don’t say that; don’t even think it.”
“And the way you are around them - the way you touch them - so comfortable: like you own them. I mean, I know you do own them, but … you used to be like that with me.” Spike rubbed his eyes. “I want that back.”
Riley felt a lump rising in his throat.
“Had this dream once: we were doing it … makin’ love out in the fields. It was just so …” Spike looked away.
Trying hard to buck him up, Riley said, “Well, we can do that. Not in the daylight, but we can go out at night and … fool around -” He rubbed Spike’s temple with his knuckles - “summer nights, when it’s warm out. I know a place we could go.” He looked down on Spike with concern. The guy really threw him for a loop sometimes. “I can’t believe you. You’ll be saying next that you’re jealous of the cornfields because I fertilise them.”
Riley was laughing when he said it, but Spike didn’t take it as a joke. Very correct, very English all of a sudden, like when they first met, he took Riley’s hand and planted a kiss on his wrist. “I would never tell you that,” he said. He looked up at Riley, from under his lashes. “I’d never tell you that I’m jealous of the sun because it kisses your face every morning -”
Spike brushed a kiss on Riley’s lips and then pushed his hands under Riley’s tee-shirt, and looked at him with a question in his eyes before pulling the garment over Riley’s head.
“I’d be ashamed to reveal how much I envy the wind ruffling your hair; no real man says that stuff.” Spike combed lazy fingers through Riley’s hair where he’d left it disturbed.
Riley just listened, wide-eyed, and a little hypnotised.
“I’d never admit that I’m jealous of the land - the State of Iowa - because your feet are caressing it all day long as you do your chores …”
Spike knelt on the floor and began removing Riley’s boots and socks, from the left foot, then the right.
“Oh God -” Riley had to fight for breath at seeing Spike’s back bent before him.
“… that I envy the soil, taking the place where I deserve to be, where I belong: crushed under the heel of your boot.”
“Don’t say that -”
Riley felt Spike’s lips - cool - on his instep, and then the soles of his feet.
“No …” Riley moaned softly: “Oh no, don’t …” but he could make no move to prevent him.
“I’m not the least bit jealous of the gear-stick of your truck, when your hand just gives it the briefest caress - yes, I’ve seen you do it - before you slip it in so smooth and sure …”
Spike’s voice was deep and dirty and full of promise, and he looked up at Riley with desperate hunger, as he went to work on Riley’s jeans, pulling the belt free and nearly ripping the zip as his urgency grew.
Through gritted teeth, he said, “It’s a closely guarded secret that I’m jealous of the water when you take a shower -”
He dragged Riley’s jeans off and flung them away, getting between his knees, and thrusting his middle finger into Riley’s mouth, working it round.
“- because it gets in all the nooks and crannies I can’t get into: that’s just crude.”
“Crude can be good,” Riley said breathlessly. He put one foot up on the bed, so that Spike could do whatever he wanted, and moaned appreciatively as Spike used him without mercy: teased his hole and thrust a finger - the finger that had been in his mouth moments before - thrust it into him, sending his core into meltdown.
Then Spike took it away and Riley had to take small breaths to get control as Spike stroked softly behind his sac, and murmured, “I’m insanely jealous of the air in your lungs and the blood in your veins because they keep you alive - something I can never give you: and that’s just perverse.”
“Perverse is okay,” Riley said vaguely, his eyes glazing with lust.
Spike’s low patter of foolish words and phrases meant nothing and everything - touching him, turning him on just as surely as Spike’s hands - and Riley already felt he could drill concrete with his dick when Spike took hold of it, rubbing the bridge of his nose against the shaft. He felt the head of his prick grazing Spike’s brow and lashes, nudging into the hollows around Spike’s eye, and against the soft resistance of his eyelid - God, it was too much - and even with Spike’s hand holding him back, it nearly blew his top. He loosed a harsh cry and willed himself not to come, and Spike moaned, close to spilling as well.
Spike held still for a moment, breathing heavily.
Riley closed his eyes, just holding on; then his restrained cock was in Spike’s mouth, being mauled with tongue and teeth. He whimpered helplessly.
Slowly, Spike dragged his lips up Riley’s length, let it slip out, and said, “I’d never tell you any of that …” He mouthed the tip with soft lips, looking up at Riley, abashed - almost fearful - as he murmured - “because if you knew how much I need you, want you, you’d get on that big horse of yours, and gallop away as fast as you could.”
“You’re forgetting something,” Riley gasped, holding up his left hand: the one with Spike’s ring on it. “There’s nothing about you I don’t know.”
Spike took a deep breath. “Lucky for me then: I don’t have to say a word. You won’t make me confess; tell you what I need; won’t make me beg for it; you wouldn’t do that to me …”
Riley bit his lip, coming down to earth. “Oh. Yeah … I … I don’t know Spike …”
“But …”
Spike didn’t say, ‘You promised’: he didn’t have to. Riley felt Spike’s grip on him slacken, and suddenly that wasn’t a problem any more. Spike’s face, blank with disappointment, would have been enough to make Riley feel sick inside, even if he didn’t have a hotline to Spike’s heart.
“I know. I promised. And I’m trying, really. But are you sure you’re ready? After everything …” He was clutching at straws now - Spike’s need was like a tiger, fretting against its chains in the corner of the room.
“You know I am,” Spike choked out, his face wild and desperate now. “Riley, please … You gotta stop treating me like I’m made out of sugar. I need you to … need you to stop it. I’m not a bloody china doll.” He glanced regretfully at Riley’s softening cock. “Not sayin’ it isn’t a monster, but it doesn’t scare me any.”
The bitterness in Spike’s voice was chilling. Riley covered himself with his hands. “It’s me,” he said. “I’m the one who’s afraid … of how I felt - when … that time …” He dropped his gaze. “I’m scared of myself. What I might do. And you’re right: I am jealous, even now -” he confessed - “jealous of Angel.”
There. He’d said it again. Maybe if he said it often enough it would lose its power over him. “I’m trying to fight it. I hate feeling like this. I want to be a big man about it, but it’s hard; and if I let myself remember that you …” He swallowed, hard. “That he …” He looked up, willing Spike to understand. “I’m scared I might lose it again. I don’t wanna be the bad guy, Spike.”
“You’re not the bad guy,” Spike said, low and determined. “You’re not even close to being the bad guy. I’ve seen the bad guy and had to deal with the bad guy, and yeah, I’ve been him too. You’re not him. That thing you did to me - the thing you’re flogging your conscience over? It was nothing. Nothing to some of the things I’ve had done to me: and done to others. And you bein’ like this - it’s confusin’. It’s makin’ me feel … I don’t know -” Spike shook his head as though an insect was buzzing in his ear - “weird. Like I’m supposed to feel guilty about stuff I did before I met you; before I changed. That’s Angel’s gig, not mine, and it’s a waste of time: doesn’t make any of it better. Don’t make me be that way.”
Riley took this in with a feeling of utter bewilderment. He’d been making Spike feel guilty? It was crazy: so crazy that even with the ring, he’d missed it.
Spike had got up and begun pacing and gesticulating. “You want me to tell you that you did a bad thing? Okay, you did. Yeah, you were rough with me: rougher than I like: made me bleed. But if you want to know where that came on a badness scale of one to ten? I’d give it a three.”
Riley blinked, shocked both at what Spike said and the casual way he’d said it.
“And you know what? If you can’t help it - if you lose it a little bit sometimes - or even if you want to do me like that - even if it’s every time? I’ll take it.” Spike’s voice quavered. “So long as you love me, I’ll take it, rough like that; because it’s better than not having you at all.”
As he watched Spike dig around in the nightstand and with shaking hands, find and light a cigarette, Riley felt so much love welling up in his chest it almost choked him. He couldn’t have got a word out at that moment if his life depended on it.
“Know what really hurt? Knowing that you thought I was trash. And that wasn’t the real you; I know it wasn’t. I know it. So you can either stay on your pedestal of self-flagellation, taking me along on your little guilt-trip, or you can get down, and give it another go - do us both a favour.”
Riley swallowed again, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t go away.
“You got no cause to worry anyway: I can defend myself now, don’t forget,” Spike pointed the cigarette at Riley. “I wouldn’t: wouldn’t ever fight you. But I could.”
“But if I went so far that I pushed you into that -” Riley pleaded - “if you had to stop me by force; I don’t know if I could ever look at myself in the mirror, or even trust myself to be with you again.” He ducked his head apologetically. “And you might not even want me to if I had a big scraggly beard.”
Spike made ‘huh?’ face.
“Can’t shave without looking in a mirror,” Riley explained lamely.
Spike snorted, and sat down on the bed, with his head lowered almost between his knees. After a moment he spoke again, more kindly. “I love all the other stuff: teasing, foreplay, sucking you off: can do it all night, you know that. But we have to get over this.” He chewed on his thumbnail and muttered, “You’ve not been the same since Cleveland. Since you saw … what you saw. Me, like that. Feel like you must think I’m … spoiled or something … down there ...”
“No!” Riley dropped to his knees in front of Spike, looking up into his face. “I told you before, that’s not it. You’re not … never! God, Spike. It’s me: I’m just so fucked up -”
“I know you still want me,” Spike cut in. “In my head, I know it. But I need to feel it.”
Riley stroked Spike’s forearm tentatively. “Oh, I want you. Want you too much.” He sighed deeply. “I had good intentions.” He got up and went to his coat where it lay on a chair, and pulled a bottle out of the pocket. “See? I didn’t plan to freak out like this.”
Spike took the bottle. “’Fun Flavoured Heating Lotion. Take your partner to the heights of ecstasy and beyond.’ You always do that …” A smile played across his lips. “’Passion Fruit’: adventurous: for you ...” he said.
The teasing was feeble, but it was better than the desperation that Riley had felt coming off Spike in waves a few minutes before. A little cheered; a little reassured, Riley shrugged. “Well, what kind of man would I be if I was too chicken to go into “The Pleasure Chest” and buy a bottle of sensual, lubricating massage-oil if I want?”
Spike hooded his eyes. “What kind of man would be brave enough to buy it and too chicken to use it?” he said, quickly stripping off, and crawling onto the bed. “Come on. We had an appointment, remember? Doesn’t do for the masseur to let his client get a chill.”
~~
Riley’s weight bore down on his thighs, and Spike gave a satisfied grunt. That was better. The massage lotion was cold as Riley trickled it down his spine, but warmed as soon as those knowing hands started working it into his shoulders, loosening the tension in his neck, even rubbing it up into his hair as Riley massaged his scalp.
A rumble of pleasure rose in Spike’s throat, but the fragrance was soon overpowering.
“I’m gonna smell like a Turkish knocking shop,” he grumbled good-naturedly.
“A Turkish what?” Riley said, mystified.
Spike groaned, amused and exasperated in equal measure. “Sometimes just opening my mouth makes me feel like I’m from another planet.”
“I’ll bet it’s one of those quirky British innuendo things isn’t it?” Riley said, pressing him into the mattress. “You know, it’s not fair to make fun of me, just because I’m an ignorant American.” He ran both thumbs firmly down Spike’s vertebrae, from his neck right down to the tailbone: first together, then one following the other so that the sensation kept rolling through, like waves on a shore.
Spike squirmed luxuriously. Better: much better. Riley was relaxing, humming soothingly to himself: probably didn’t even know he was doing it. Having something to do with his hands was distracting him, as Spike had hoped it would.
As he was stroked and pampered, Spike imagined himself Riley’s horse: not the big lanky grey, but the little chestnut job with the compact body and quick turns. The one Riley said was a quarter-horse.
‘So, what -’ he’d asked Riley innocently - ‘are the other three-quarters? Duck-billed platypus? Racing pigeon, perhaps? Kipper?’ and Riley had laughed and said, ‘Stop messin’ with me! I know what a kipper is!’ - and cuffed the back of his head.
Spike smiled into the pillow, thinking what it would be like - how fine it would be - to stand out in the yard, having his hide buffed and polished by one who owned him - loved him - until it shone in the sunlight. Arching and stretching, he thrust his dick impatiently against the sheets as Riley worked his hands up and down his spine. No wonder Riley’s horses loved him; would do anything for him; jump the gates of Hell for him, if he asked it of them.
Riley shifted around so he was still sitting astride Spike, but facing away from his head. He leaned and reached and started rubbing Spike’s feet, and it tickled and at first Spike bore it stoically, but when it stopped he could hardly bear it. As the hands worked their way up his calves and pressed behind his knees, he felt Riley’s cock, hard once more, sliding the wrong way along his cleft, and he shifted, raising his hips a little to feel more of it.
At last, Riley’s hands reached the insides of his thighs, and he dared spread himself a little, inviting more; hope and fear and desire stripping away what little pride he had left. Tears welled in his eyes.
In answer to his silent prayer, those hands slid higher, and as if by accident, Riley eased a finger - still slick with oil - inside him. He bit back a sob. Riley’s nervous exhalation told Spike how hard this was for him, so he just rasped gratefully, “Yeah ... more of that mate.”
“Sure?” Riley said, half-kidding, half-uncertain himself. Riley’s breathing was still anxious, stuttering, so when Spike felt the finger withdrawn, he made no protest.
He hadn’t been able to stop himself piling on the pressure - way too much pressure - and now, though he ached so badly to feel it inside him - that gorgeous cock that was slapping teasingly against him - he was anxious not to say or do anything to spook Riley. But his skin was on fire with borrowed heat, and when Riley sawed the edge of his hand between his buttocks, grazing his hole, Spike spread himself wider, wriggling and pressing back onto it, softly murmuring, “Please, Riley ... do me, oh, God, please ...”
He pushed up onto his knees - couldn’t help it - and Riley, forced to dismount, shuffled round behind Spike and grunted appreciatively.
Spike shuddered.
Must look a right little whore: presenting himself like this. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, but the image was still there, and drew a desperate moan from his chest, but he arched his back, offering more, spreading himself wider.
Riley just carried on massaging the magic lotion into his arse, making approving noises in his throat. Riley usually liked to see his face, but on this occasion it seemed that what he saw - Spike, on his knees, open for him, straining towards him - pleased him very greatly. He weighed Spike’s balls in his palm, rolling and caressing them, and taking his own sweet time about it, before reaching underneath to take Spike’s cock in hand, frustrating it with slight pressure.
As Spike thrust into his hand, Riley breeched him again; two fingers this time, crooked to hit the spot. Pressing back, Spike heard the wordless sounds of his own need amplified in his head, and bowed his head in shame.
Riley petted his flank, his thighs. “Shhh. It’s okay, I’ll get there,” he said a little breathlessly. “I will.” He slid a warm hand along Spike’s cock, almost up to the head, then tantalizingly removed it.
The strangled whimper from Spike must have been what he wanted to hear, because he did it again, over and over again, without mercy, and Spike was grunting with the effort - to come or not to, even he didn’t know which - when Riley finally rolled the head in his hand.
Fuck.
“Hold … hold off love,” Spike gasped. “Gonna be over before -” but he couldn’t resist dropping his head and watching Riley’s hand on his cock and he jerked helplessly into that hand and whined again.
“Doesn’t matter,” Riley said, reassuring. “We don’t have any place to go.”
But it did matter. Suddenly, it felt as though there was just one chance to get things right.
Spike willed himself not to come; even as Riley parted his cheeks, blowing warm breath over him; even as it felt like Riley must have three hands; as he rhythmically stroked half-circles around Spike’s entrance, making him shake and dragging high ragged cries from him; as his expert fingers cupped and squeezed Spike’s balls; as his palms spread him wider still, making his deprivation the greater - Oh! - even as Spike became a hot gaping void, starving for something, anything, and then he was almost begging; “Riley, please, fuck … God, oh, God … please, fuck -”
A high, strangled whimper and he fell silent; couldn’t say it - ‘please fuck me’ - just couldn’t; because if the answer this time was ‘no’ …
And then; nothing: no hands, no words, no reassurance, and it seemed like forever he was left untouched, exposed, not knowing, and suspended in nothingness, straining for anything that might let him hope - was that a bottle being opened? Was Riley preparing himself?
Yes. Oh, yes.
Firm warm hands parted him - yes - and Riley covered and penetrated him, sliding home, hot and slick and vital, and Spike groaned, clenched around him and came in great juddering spurts, crying out the relief that flooded through him, his throat sore, his muscles straining to stop himself collapsing.
“Bloody hell,” he said quietly, when he’d finished - distressed to have come so soon, and Riley still hard and unsatisfied inside him. “Sorry …”
But Riley gentled him, holding him close; he rolled so that they were lying spooned on their sides, and brushed the hair off Spike’s brow, making soothing sounds until Spike had stopped shaking. Then he rocked into him, taking him slowly, patiently, holding off and holding off, moving just enough to hit that spot over and over until Spike was hard once more, and only then did he take his own pleasure, and give Spike his again.
When Riley slid out, Spike lay exhausted, with his arms over his face.
Riley touched him tentatively. “Are you … was it okay?”
Spike almost laughed, almost choked. “Yes, God, yes, it was okay: more than okay.”
He felt weak: confessional. “I’m such an idiot … makin’ all that fuss. Should have known … but I thought … dunno. Was scared I guess. I know it’s not been that long: a few days. But I didn’t think … half-believed we were never gonna do it - this - again, I’d never have you inside me again. Couldn’t bear it; but I couldn’t have blamed you if I’d scared you off with all this carryin’ on.” He shook his head. “Tried … doin’ myself … with -”
“Not that stake!” Riley said, horrified.
“Bloody hell, no! But with … other stuff. Candle. Bottles of …”
Fucking shut up, Spike, stop embarrassing yourself.
“… you don’t need to know. It’s not the same. Takes away the element of surprise you know?” He bit his lower lip ruefully. “Half the time I know what I’m gonna do next …”
“God, Spike I’m so sorry.” Riley pulled Spike back into his arms, and put his chin on Spike’s shoulder. “Only half the time?” he said quizzically.
“Pretty unpredictable, huh?” Spike made a noise that was part laugh, part sob. Sore and vulnerable, he feared he was about to cry for real; just cry his sodding eyes out. Which was stupid. Everything was going to be okay now.
Maybe that was why.
The chip was out, he’d got his man back, and soon - very soon - they could pack up and get on the road, just the two of them.
He could hardly wait.
He turned around and clung to Riley, buried his head in the crook of the big man’s neck, and said quietly, “Is it home time yet?”
~~
TBC: One chapter to go!