Gluttony
So, since I'm totally blocking on half a dozen things I love my comms so, I thought I would combine the Seven Deadly Sins prompt at darker_spike with the Random Non-Con prompt at feedmykink.
YES! I will be doing seven ficlets each themed around a different sin, and in each, poor Spikey brings out the worst in people.
This first one is Spike/Riley
NC-17 as always.
NON-CON. If that isn't your thing, avoid.
[Just realized - this is my first Spiley! WOO! Another pairing cherry popped!]
Gluttony (Riley)
Riley was always a big eater, growing up on the farm, then in the army - work hard, eat hearty. But lately he couldn’t get his fill. Sausage and eggs, grits, hamburgers - nothing seemed to satisfy.
He was at the Bronze, downing yet another coke that wasn’t slaking his thirst, when he glanced up and knew why.
Spike was at the bar, head tilted back, eyes closed peacefully as he drained a twenty ounce beer like it was water, his throat working sinuously.
All Riley could see now was that throat, those lips latched on smooth glass, and he remembered other lips, attached to him, drawing him down in unquenchable thirst.
Riley wanted. He left half a basket of hot wings and fries and felt in his pocket for his wallet. Outside the Bronze he groaned, counting out two dollars and change. What happened to the twenty he’d gotten out that morning?
Someone left the bar and through the swinging door he caught a glimpse of a bus-boy clearing his french-fries.
Riley’s veins itched from too much blood, fueled by too much food. He scratched his arm too hard, cutting the skin. It didn’t help, it just stung a little.
“Wot’s the matter, white-bread? They make the vanilla too spicy for you?”
Riley had Spike pinned to the brick wall before he realized himself he was doing it. His forearm pressed up against the vampire’s chin, the thin trickle of blood from his self-inflicted scratch so close now to that throat that worked, again, swallowing against pressure, though Spike of course affected a bored, almost disinterested face.
“My problem is that you are useless.” Riley pressed harder.
“Ah.” Spike leaned his head back as far as the wall would allow, stretching his throat, the hard nub of his adam’s apple bobbing. “So that’s what this is. Jonesing for a bit of fang, are we? Oh, white-bread’s not so pure and white anymore, is he?”
Spike landed, sprawled on his back in the alleyway, his coat around him like broken wings. Riley felt his heart pounding in his ears and blushed - he couldn’t help it - there were people coming and going from the bar, stopping to stare at the sudden violence. A bouncer was leaning out the door.
Riley wiped his forearm across his face, then hissed as sweat ground into the shallow cuts.
He walked up to Spike and held out his hand.
Spike rolled his eyes and got up on his own, graceful as an unfolding fan. “Piss off, cornfed,” he said, jerking his jacket more fully onto his shoulders he turned to go.
Riley just followed him. It was a familiar path, cutting behind Sunnydale’s small commercial district to the cemetery. They were soon alone.
Spike turned with an exasperated sigh. “What the hell do you want?”
“I want a drink,” Riley said. He stepped very close to Spike. The vampire backed up but he kept contact, always putting one foot between Spike’s until he had him once again backed against a wall. It was a warehouse, long louvered windows overhead.
“News flash: Chip. Can’t help you, mate. Not that I would. Yours is the last blood I’d ever drink. Lord knows what’s in it.”
Riley rammed his knee into Spike’s tight denim crotch, felt his hips impact the stone wall and he cried out. But didn’t vamp out. So Riley hit him again. He lifted his body off the wall just to slam it. Spike twisted, tried to slip away, and then threw the inevitable punch, crumpling with pain against his attacker.
“Vamp out,” Riley demanded, slamming Spike’s shoulders to the brick. “Vamp out.” He held him up with one hand and punched him in the gut. Spike was only just recovering enough from the chip-fire to stand. He crumpled again. Riley waited for him to gasp twice and punched again, harder. And then again, so he could feel spine against his knuckles.
“I can keep this up all night, Spike. Can you?”
Spike’s lips moved, airlessly framing some insult or other. Riley grabbed him by the ears and slammed his head into the wall, twice. His arms were shaking now, trembling because he had to hold back. He couldn’t knock Spike out or there would be no fix.
So he twisted his fingernails into his ears and pressed his knee into his groin, rhythmically, he rode him against the wall. At last Spike snarled, eyes going yellow and face ridging, beautiful, pure, demonic. Riley slashed his arm across Spike’s fangs, bloodying his lip and more importantly, ripping open a gash that bleed freely. Wet blood smeared all over Riley’s arm now, and Spike’s lips as the vampire whimpered in pain, his visage melting back to human.
“Drink. Drink it. Demon. Beast.” He was thrusting his arm at Spike’s mouth, grinding his lips open against his teeth. “Don’t pretend you aren’t a slave to your appetites. That’s all vampires are. Appetite. So drink!”
They were on the ground now, Spike almost sitting against the wall while Riley kneeled over him, pressing. His arm slid around slack lips as Spike tried to refuse and turn away. Riley gripped his hair and forced him to be still, to face it.
And he started to drink.
Lips locked tight to his skin. He licked the cut, spreading it open and lapped up the blood like a kitten, his long pale throat working with each little swallow. There was something beautiful, beyond the pull, the thirst and need, something perfect in the amount of blood wasted, smeared all over the lower half of Spike’s face, dripping down his throat and soaking into the collar of his shirt. Riley gasped at the debauchery, the poetry of waste.
Spike’s lips lifted away, he shook his head slightly, tried to say something. Riley forced his face down again, but only felt blunt teeth against his cut.
Riley knew there was something wrong that blood loss made him so hard. He picked up one of Spike’s hands - they were lying slack at his sides, he’d given up fighting completely after the second chip fire. Riley pressed his fingers to his erection, rubbed them up and down, limp and twisting in his grip.
“No,” Spike said. “No, fuck no, Riley. You’re not…”
“You haven’t had enough to eat.” Riley undid his fly, barely feeling his fingers - they were numb, pulsing, full of blood like his cock. He dragged the blonde head down. He scrambled, rolled, almost got away, but Riley was half on top of him already. It took little to pin the vampire down, on his back. Rile pushed his knees out, grinding arm-bones into pavement now he gathered up a fistful of blonde hair again. “Drink,” he said.
Spike gritted his teeth to keep him out, but Riley knew how to pry an unwilling mouth open. It was just like feeding medicine to calves, or putting muzzles on hostiles in the initiative. His fingers pressed until the jaw gave and he pushed himself past teeth barely open wide enough. But he wanted that feeling, hard, edge-painful, but not nearly sharp enough. Never sharp enough. “Go on,” he said, “Bite it.”
Spike thrashed his head, trying to get away. Riley hissed in pain at a brief graze, a convulsion as the chip fired again. He used the moment of disorientation, of pliancy after the pain, to push all the way in, into the throat. Spike gagged, but even that was pleasant. A fluttering sleeve engulfed his cock, cold, dead, feeding, never satiated. Riley braced himself on the ground over Spike’s head and thrust into that mouth. He knew he was blocking off the airways, and it got him off knowing that didn’t matter. Vampires don’t need to breathe. They only need to feed. “Eat it,” he said. “Eat. Eat.”
Spike went limp. He took it. Which was a shame. Riley wanted sucking. He wanted to be fed on. Frustration made him pound harder. He could feel the skull below him rubbing against the dirty asphalt, felt the complete power, complete control. His balls were drawing up and he was fucking faster and faster. He bit his lip to stop from crying out. He tasted his own blood and pulled back, fast, almost in a panic lest he miss it - no, he was in time. His cum spurted thick over blood-stained lips, down that chin and throat, mingling with all that spilled gore.
Riley was light-headed. He fell as he tried to climb off of the supine vampire, and then he stumbled again as he tried to stand, catching himself on the wall. He glanced down and laughed a little at the strawberries-and-cream mess left on the vampire's chin and neck, like he'd just gorged himself.
Spike was looking at him, warily, hands out as though ready to fend off another attack.
Riley laughed. “You’re a waste, Spike. Just a waste.” He straightened his clothes and walked away still feeling hungry.
YES! I will be doing seven ficlets each themed around a different sin, and in each, poor Spikey brings out the worst in people.
This first one is Spike/Riley
NC-17 as always.
NON-CON. If that isn't your thing, avoid.
[Just realized - this is my first Spiley! WOO! Another pairing cherry popped!]
Gluttony (Riley)
Riley was always a big eater, growing up on the farm, then in the army - work hard, eat hearty. But lately he couldn’t get his fill. Sausage and eggs, grits, hamburgers - nothing seemed to satisfy.
He was at the Bronze, downing yet another coke that wasn’t slaking his thirst, when he glanced up and knew why.
Spike was at the bar, head tilted back, eyes closed peacefully as he drained a twenty ounce beer like it was water, his throat working sinuously.
All Riley could see now was that throat, those lips latched on smooth glass, and he remembered other lips, attached to him, drawing him down in unquenchable thirst.
Riley wanted. He left half a basket of hot wings and fries and felt in his pocket for his wallet. Outside the Bronze he groaned, counting out two dollars and change. What happened to the twenty he’d gotten out that morning?
Someone left the bar and through the swinging door he caught a glimpse of a bus-boy clearing his french-fries.
Riley’s veins itched from too much blood, fueled by too much food. He scratched his arm too hard, cutting the skin. It didn’t help, it just stung a little.
“Wot’s the matter, white-bread? They make the vanilla too spicy for you?”
Riley had Spike pinned to the brick wall before he realized himself he was doing it. His forearm pressed up against the vampire’s chin, the thin trickle of blood from his self-inflicted scratch so close now to that throat that worked, again, swallowing against pressure, though Spike of course affected a bored, almost disinterested face.
“My problem is that you are useless.” Riley pressed harder.
“Ah.” Spike leaned his head back as far as the wall would allow, stretching his throat, the hard nub of his adam’s apple bobbing. “So that’s what this is. Jonesing for a bit of fang, are we? Oh, white-bread’s not so pure and white anymore, is he?”
Spike landed, sprawled on his back in the alleyway, his coat around him like broken wings. Riley felt his heart pounding in his ears and blushed - he couldn’t help it - there were people coming and going from the bar, stopping to stare at the sudden violence. A bouncer was leaning out the door.
Riley wiped his forearm across his face, then hissed as sweat ground into the shallow cuts.
He walked up to Spike and held out his hand.
Spike rolled his eyes and got up on his own, graceful as an unfolding fan. “Piss off, cornfed,” he said, jerking his jacket more fully onto his shoulders he turned to go.
Riley just followed him. It was a familiar path, cutting behind Sunnydale’s small commercial district to the cemetery. They were soon alone.
Spike turned with an exasperated sigh. “What the hell do you want?”
“I want a drink,” Riley said. He stepped very close to Spike. The vampire backed up but he kept contact, always putting one foot between Spike’s until he had him once again backed against a wall. It was a warehouse, long louvered windows overhead.
“News flash: Chip. Can’t help you, mate. Not that I would. Yours is the last blood I’d ever drink. Lord knows what’s in it.”
Riley rammed his knee into Spike’s tight denim crotch, felt his hips impact the stone wall and he cried out. But didn’t vamp out. So Riley hit him again. He lifted his body off the wall just to slam it. Spike twisted, tried to slip away, and then threw the inevitable punch, crumpling with pain against his attacker.
“Vamp out,” Riley demanded, slamming Spike’s shoulders to the brick. “Vamp out.” He held him up with one hand and punched him in the gut. Spike was only just recovering enough from the chip-fire to stand. He crumpled again. Riley waited for him to gasp twice and punched again, harder. And then again, so he could feel spine against his knuckles.
“I can keep this up all night, Spike. Can you?”
Spike’s lips moved, airlessly framing some insult or other. Riley grabbed him by the ears and slammed his head into the wall, twice. His arms were shaking now, trembling because he had to hold back. He couldn’t knock Spike out or there would be no fix.
So he twisted his fingernails into his ears and pressed his knee into his groin, rhythmically, he rode him against the wall. At last Spike snarled, eyes going yellow and face ridging, beautiful, pure, demonic. Riley slashed his arm across Spike’s fangs, bloodying his lip and more importantly, ripping open a gash that bleed freely. Wet blood smeared all over Riley’s arm now, and Spike’s lips as the vampire whimpered in pain, his visage melting back to human.
“Drink. Drink it. Demon. Beast.” He was thrusting his arm at Spike’s mouth, grinding his lips open against his teeth. “Don’t pretend you aren’t a slave to your appetites. That’s all vampires are. Appetite. So drink!”
They were on the ground now, Spike almost sitting against the wall while Riley kneeled over him, pressing. His arm slid around slack lips as Spike tried to refuse and turn away. Riley gripped his hair and forced him to be still, to face it.
And he started to drink.
Lips locked tight to his skin. He licked the cut, spreading it open and lapped up the blood like a kitten, his long pale throat working with each little swallow. There was something beautiful, beyond the pull, the thirst and need, something perfect in the amount of blood wasted, smeared all over the lower half of Spike’s face, dripping down his throat and soaking into the collar of his shirt. Riley gasped at the debauchery, the poetry of waste.
Spike’s lips lifted away, he shook his head slightly, tried to say something. Riley forced his face down again, but only felt blunt teeth against his cut.
Riley knew there was something wrong that blood loss made him so hard. He picked up one of Spike’s hands - they were lying slack at his sides, he’d given up fighting completely after the second chip fire. Riley pressed his fingers to his erection, rubbed them up and down, limp and twisting in his grip.
“No,” Spike said. “No, fuck no, Riley. You’re not…”
“You haven’t had enough to eat.” Riley undid his fly, barely feeling his fingers - they were numb, pulsing, full of blood like his cock. He dragged the blonde head down. He scrambled, rolled, almost got away, but Riley was half on top of him already. It took little to pin the vampire down, on his back. Rile pushed his knees out, grinding arm-bones into pavement now he gathered up a fistful of blonde hair again. “Drink,” he said.
Spike gritted his teeth to keep him out, but Riley knew how to pry an unwilling mouth open. It was just like feeding medicine to calves, or putting muzzles on hostiles in the initiative. His fingers pressed until the jaw gave and he pushed himself past teeth barely open wide enough. But he wanted that feeling, hard, edge-painful, but not nearly sharp enough. Never sharp enough. “Go on,” he said, “Bite it.”
Spike thrashed his head, trying to get away. Riley hissed in pain at a brief graze, a convulsion as the chip fired again. He used the moment of disorientation, of pliancy after the pain, to push all the way in, into the throat. Spike gagged, but even that was pleasant. A fluttering sleeve engulfed his cock, cold, dead, feeding, never satiated. Riley braced himself on the ground over Spike’s head and thrust into that mouth. He knew he was blocking off the airways, and it got him off knowing that didn’t matter. Vampires don’t need to breathe. They only need to feed. “Eat it,” he said. “Eat. Eat.”
Spike went limp. He took it. Which was a shame. Riley wanted sucking. He wanted to be fed on. Frustration made him pound harder. He could feel the skull below him rubbing against the dirty asphalt, felt the complete power, complete control. His balls were drawing up and he was fucking faster and faster. He bit his lip to stop from crying out. He tasted his own blood and pulled back, fast, almost in a panic lest he miss it - no, he was in time. His cum spurted thick over blood-stained lips, down that chin and throat, mingling with all that spilled gore.
Riley was light-headed. He fell as he tried to climb off of the supine vampire, and then he stumbled again as he tried to stand, catching himself on the wall. He glanced down and laughed a little at the strawberries-and-cream mess left on the vampire's chin and neck, like he'd just gorged himself.
Spike was looking at him, warily, hands out as though ready to fend off another attack.
Riley laughed. “You’re a waste, Spike. Just a waste.” He straightened his clothes and walked away still feeling hungry.