FIC: Reflections 12: Compensations 3/3
Author: Trepkos
Pairing: Spike/Riley
Rating: NC17 overall
Standard disclaimer: no profit made, no copyright infringement intended.
Feedback: It’s what I live for
Previous parts:
Reflections 1: Down the Rabbit-hole 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 2: Through the Looking Glass 1/5 2/5 3/5 4/5 5/5
Reflections 3: Sentence First! Verdict afterwards! 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 4: Where do we go from here? 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 5: On the Road to Los Angeles 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 6: The Players Assemble 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 7: Reunion 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 8: Things Fall Apart 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 9: Caritas 1/5 2/5 3/5 4/5 5/5
Reflections 10: Trials 1/6 2/6 3/6 4/6 5/6 6/6
Reflections 11: Promises 1/3 2/3 3/3
Reflections 12: Compensations 1/3 2/3
Reflections 12: Compensations 3/3
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 in fascination 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, like 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.
Riley came up behind him and wrapped his arms around him. Riley’s cheek was pressed against his, so that they were framed side by side.
“Didn’t realize how hot we look together,” Spike said thoughtfully. “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?” Riley asked him.
He sounded genuinely concerned, but the question seemed odd, to say the least.
“How d’you mean?”
“Will she be okay? I mean, she didn’t seem that … competent.” Riley ducked his head, inviting confidences. “Do you worry about her?”
Spike smiled softly and palmed Riley’s cheek. “Not as much as you do, by the sound of it. I used to, in the old days: not any more though. She may seem like a little lost girl sometimes: and sometimes she is; but little girls - even lost ones - are sometimes tougher than they look. 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 and breathed a sigh.
“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. He swung 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 on the mouth - reassurance offered and accepted in the firm press of lips - and when he pulled away, Riley tugged him back into his arms for more of it.
When at last, they broke off, Spike said; “So, what d’you think?”
Riley looked 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; Riley was always so free 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 gotten 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 things 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.” He dropped his gaze. “I think that’s why I did what I did: before … lost control.”
“You’re never second best,” Spike said. He kissed him again.
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. “Surely 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.” He avoided Riley’s gaze.
“Tell me,” Riley insisted.
He tipped Spike’s chin back, but Spike - embarrassed beyond measure - still looked away.
“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, he confessed, “Of … your horses.”
~~
“My horses?!” Riley spluttered, almost breaking his promise straight off, and accidentally treading on Spike’s foot.
“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 because he feared they 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?”
Holding Spike’s face between his hands, he said - as sincerely as he was able - “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.
But Riley wasn’t about to dismiss Spike’s concerns, however crazy they might sound. Worried, he said, “You want me to stop seeing …”
He wiped a hand over his mouth. “Now that just sounds wrong. 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 sat down on the bed, awaiting the verdict, and silently praying Spike would say ‘No’, because either way it would be like losing a limb.
“I could … if you really want me too.”
“Don’t you dare!” Spike said firmly. “What: 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 -”
Spike swatted at the air.
“- 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 -”
“Please, don’t say that; don’t even think it.”
“And the way you are around them - when I think about the way you touch them - so comfortable: like you own them. I mean, I know you do own them, but -” Spike’s voice dropped: “- you used to be like that with me.”
Spike rubbed his eyes and sat down on the bed, beside him.
“I want that back.”
Riley felt a lump rising in his throat.
“Had this dream once,” Spike continued. “We were doing it … makin’ love out in the fields. It was just so …”
He looked away.
“Well, we can do that,” Riley said, eager to buck Spike up. “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 at Spike with concern. The guy really threw him for a loop sometimes.
“I can’t believe you! Next you’ll be saying you’re jealous of the cornfields because I fertilise them.”
He 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, Spike took his hand and planted a kiss on his wrist.
“I would never tell you that,” Spike said, looking up at him from under his lashes. “Just like I’d never tell you that I’m jealous of the sun because it kisses your face every morning -”
Spike’s lips were on his; Spike’s hands sliding under his tee-shirt. Spike looked at him with a question in his eyes, then pulled the garment over his head, and combed lazy fingers through his hair, where he’d disturbed it.
“I’d be ashamed to reveal how much I envy the wind when it ruffles your hair, blowing these golden filaments awry; no real man says that stuff.”
Riley listened: wide-eyed, and a little hypnotised.
“I’d never admit to the grudge that I bear against 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 his boots and socks, from the left foot, then the right, and Riley had to fight for breath at seeing Spike’s back bent before him.
“Oh God -”
“… that I envy the soil, taking my place: where I belong: crushed under the heel of your boot.”
“Don’t say that -”
Spike’s lips were cool against his instep; even the soles of his feet; Spike was kissing his feet. Wasn’t that against the Constitution?
“No …” Riley moaned softly: “Oh no, don’t …” though he could make no move to prevent him.
Spike looked up at him with desperate hunger, and went to work on his jeans, pulling the belt free and nearly ripping the zip as his urgency grew; voice deep and dirty and full of promise.
“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 …”
Riley’s jeans were dragged off and flung away.
“It’s a closely guarded secret that I’m jealous of the water when you take a shower -”
Spike was kneeling between his thighs, and sliding his middle finger into Riley’s mouth, working it round, as he said through gritted teeth: “- 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 Spike used him without mercy: teasing his hole and thrusting a finger - the finger that had been in his mouth - thrusting it into him, sending his core into meltdown.
He moaned appreciatively. But then Spike took it away and he had to take small breaths to get control as Spike stroked softly behind his sac, and murmured into his ear, so close that Riley could feel the breath.
“I know it’s perverse, but I’m insanely jealous of the air in your lungs and the blood in your veins. They keep you alive: something I can never do for you.”
“Perverse can be okay,” Riley said vaguely, his eyes glazing with lust.
Spike was curled around him like smoke, his low patter of foolish words and phrases that meant nothing and everything penetrating every pore - touching him - turning him on just as surely as if they had form and substance, and just when Riley was sure he could drill concrete with his dick, Spike took hold of it, and rubbed the bridge of his nose against the shaft.
Riley caught his breath. The head of his prick was 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 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.
“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 …”
And Riley came crashing to earth. He bit his lip.
“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 him 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. “Riley, please … You gotta stop treating me like I’m made out of sugar. I need you to … need you to stop it. Show me some respect. I’m a vampire - a monster - not a bloody china doll.”
Spike glanced regretfully at Riley’s softening cock and Riley covered himself with his hands.
“Not sayin’ that isn’t a monster, but it doesn’t scare me any.”
The bitterness in Spike’s voice chilled him to the core.
“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. “I’m 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’s voice was low and determined; his eyes were blue flints.
“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 - that 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.”
He’d been making Spike feel guilty? Riley took this in with a feeling of utter bewilderment. 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 at what Spike said, but even more by the casual way he’d said it.
“And you know what?” Spike went on. “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 rummage around in the nightstand drawer 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 do us both a favour: get down, and give it another go.”
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, finally finding his voice: “- 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 looked up and spoke again, more kindly.
“I love all the other stuff: teasing, foreplay, sucking each other 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 …” Spike’s head dropped again: “… 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. I just … don’t feel it.”
Riley stroked Spike’s forearm tentatively. “Oh, I want you. Want you too much.” He sighed deeply. “I had good intentions. Should get points for that, right?”
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.”
“No, I know you didn’t mate. Me neither.” Spike shook his head at himself and gestured at Riley to pass him the bottle, which he did.
Spike scanned the label. “’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 had been coming off Spike in waves a few minutes before. And suddenly, Riley didn’t know why he was making such a drama out of it. Anything Spike had done with Angel - anything Angel had done to - or with - Spike: none of it mattered a damn, when he saw Spike’s face: tight with anticipation but so beautiful: waiting on his word. If anyone had a right to make a big scene, it was Spike - but Spike was still here with him: had forgiven him, and always would; he’d said so.
What in God’s name was there to hold him back?
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.”
~~
When he felt Riley’s weight bear down on his thighs, 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 Riley’s knowing fingers 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 felt Riley running both thumbs firmly down his spine, 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.
He 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, he imagined himself Riley’s horse: not the big lanky grey, but the little compact chestnut job that could turn on a sixpence: 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 a kipper isn’t a proper animal!’ - and had 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 way 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 him, but facing away from his head. He leaned and reached and started rubbing Spike’s feet, and it tickled and at first Spike just bore it stoically, but when it stopped he could hardly bear it. As Riley turned his attention to 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 reached the insides of his thighs, thumbs kneading and pressing in, and he dared spread himself in invitation; hope and fear and desire stripping away a bit more of the little pride he had left. His eyes were prickling.
In answer to his silent prayer, a hand slid higher, and - as if by accident - Riley eased a slick finger inside him. Riley’s nervous exhalation told Spike how hard this was for him, so he just rasped gratefully, “Ye-ah ... 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 choked down the sob that bubbled up in his chest: made no protest. He’d been piling on the pressure: way too much pressure: couldn’t help himself; and now, though he ached so badly to feel it inside him - that gorgeous cock that was slapping teasingly against him - he was determined not to say or do anything to spook the man.
But his skin was on fire with borrowed heat, and when Riley sawed the edge of his hand between his buttocks, grazing his hole, he spread himself wider, wriggling and pressing back onto it, 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 him, and grunted appreciatively. 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.
Not spoiled then. Not that.
Making approving noises in his throat, Riley carried on massaging the magic lotion into his arse
Spike shuddered.
Must look a right little whore: presenting himself like this. He squeezed his eyes tight shut. The image was still there, and tore a desperate moan from his chest, but he arched his back, offering more, and Riley took full advantage, weighing his balls in his palm, rolling and caressing and - oh fuck - kissing and mouthing them, and taking his own sweet time about it, before reaching underneath to take his cock in hand, frustrating it with slight pressure.
As Spike thrust into that teasing hand, Riley breeched him again - two fingers this time, crooked to hit the spot - and he heard the wordless sounds of his own need amplified in his head, and bowed his head in shame and pressed back.
And Riley was petting 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.
A strangled whimper - the only sound Spike could make - must have been what Riley wanted to hear, because he did it again, over and over again, without mercy, until Spike was grunting with the effort - to come or not to, even he didn’t know which - then 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.
“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. He willed himself not to come; even as Riley parted him, 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 his balls; as Riley’s palms, and then with slow deliberation, fingers and thumbs spread him wider still, making his deprivation the greater - Oh! - even as he became a hot gaping void, starving for something, anything; then he was almost begging.
“Riley, please, fuck … God, oh, God … please, fuck -”
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 words; no hands; no reassurance - and it seemed like forever he was left untouched and utterly exposed, not knowing, and suspended in nothingness: the only sounds, the degrading, pleading whines and whimpers issuing from his own throat as he strained for anything that might let him hope.
Was a bottle being opened? Was Riley preparing himself?
Oh, yes.
Firm warm hands parted him - yes - and Riley covered and penetrated him, sliding home, hot and slick and vital, and he groaned, clenched around him and came in great juddering spurts, crying out the relief that flooded through him until his throat was raw; his muscles straining to stop himself collapsing.
“Bloody hell,” he said quietly, when he was 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 he’d stopped shaking. Then Riley 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 from him, 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. 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, his voice dismayed.
“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. He felt sore and vulnerable; 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
Pairing: Spike/Riley
Rating: NC17 overall
Standard disclaimer: no profit made, no copyright infringement intended.
Feedback: It’s what I live for
Previous parts:
Reflections 1: Down the Rabbit-hole 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 2: Through the Looking Glass 1/5 2/5 3/5 4/5 5/5
Reflections 3: Sentence First! Verdict afterwards! 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 4: Where do we go from here? 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 5: On the Road to Los Angeles 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 6: The Players Assemble 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 7: Reunion 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 8: Things Fall Apart 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 9: Caritas 1/5 2/5 3/5 4/5 5/5
Reflections 10: Trials 1/6 2/6 3/6 4/6 5/6 6/6
Reflections 11: Promises 1/3 2/3 3/3
Reflections 12: Compensations 1/3 2/3
Reflections 12: Compensations 3/3
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 in fascination 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, like 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.
Riley came up behind him and wrapped his arms around him. Riley’s cheek was pressed against his, so that they were framed side by side.
“Didn’t realize how hot we look together,” Spike said thoughtfully. “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?” Riley asked him.
He sounded genuinely concerned, but the question seemed odd, to say the least.
“How d’you mean?”
“Will she be okay? I mean, she didn’t seem that … competent.” Riley ducked his head, inviting confidences. “Do you worry about her?”
Spike smiled softly and palmed Riley’s cheek. “Not as much as you do, by the sound of it. I used to, in the old days: not any more though. She may seem like a little lost girl sometimes: and sometimes she is; but little girls - even lost ones - are sometimes tougher than they look. 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 and breathed a sigh.
“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. He swung 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 on the mouth - reassurance offered and accepted in the firm press of lips - and when he pulled away, Riley tugged him back into his arms for more of it.
When at last, they broke off, Spike said; “So, what d’you think?”
Riley looked 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; Riley was always so free 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 gotten 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 things 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.” He dropped his gaze. “I think that’s why I did what I did: before … lost control.”
“You’re never second best,” Spike said. He kissed him again.
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. “Surely 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.” He avoided Riley’s gaze.
“Tell me,” Riley insisted.
He tipped Spike’s chin back, but Spike - embarrassed beyond measure - still looked away.
“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, he confessed, “Of … your horses.”
~~
“My horses?!” Riley spluttered, almost breaking his promise straight off, and accidentally treading on Spike’s foot.
“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 because he feared they 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?”
Holding Spike’s face between his hands, he said - as sincerely as he was able - “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.
But Riley wasn’t about to dismiss Spike’s concerns, however crazy they might sound. Worried, he said, “You want me to stop seeing …”
He wiped a hand over his mouth. “Now that just sounds wrong. 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 sat down on the bed, awaiting the verdict, and silently praying Spike would say ‘No’, because either way it would be like losing a limb.
“I could … if you really want me too.”
“Don’t you dare!” Spike said firmly. “What: 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 -”
Spike swatted at the air.
“- 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 -”
“Please, don’t say that; don’t even think it.”
“And the way you are around them - when I think about the way you touch them - so comfortable: like you own them. I mean, I know you do own them, but -” Spike’s voice dropped: “- you used to be like that with me.”
Spike rubbed his eyes and sat down on the bed, beside him.
“I want that back.”
Riley felt a lump rising in his throat.
“Had this dream once,” Spike continued. “We were doing it … makin’ love out in the fields. It was just so …”
He looked away.
“Well, we can do that,” Riley said, eager to buck Spike up. “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 at Spike with concern. The guy really threw him for a loop sometimes.
“I can’t believe you! Next you’ll be saying you’re jealous of the cornfields because I fertilise them.”
He 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, Spike took his hand and planted a kiss on his wrist.
“I would never tell you that,” Spike said, looking up at him from under his lashes. “Just like I’d never tell you that I’m jealous of the sun because it kisses your face every morning -”
Spike’s lips were on his; Spike’s hands sliding under his tee-shirt. Spike looked at him with a question in his eyes, then pulled the garment over his head, and combed lazy fingers through his hair, where he’d disturbed it.
“I’d be ashamed to reveal how much I envy the wind when it ruffles your hair, blowing these golden filaments awry; no real man says that stuff.”
Riley listened: wide-eyed, and a little hypnotised.
“I’d never admit to the grudge that I bear against 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 his boots and socks, from the left foot, then the right, and Riley had to fight for breath at seeing Spike’s back bent before him.
“Oh God -”
“… that I envy the soil, taking my place: where I belong: crushed under the heel of your boot.”
“Don’t say that -”
Spike’s lips were cool against his instep; even the soles of his feet; Spike was kissing his feet. Wasn’t that against the Constitution?
“No …” Riley moaned softly: “Oh no, don’t …” though he could make no move to prevent him.
Spike looked up at him with desperate hunger, and went to work on his jeans, pulling the belt free and nearly ripping the zip as his urgency grew; voice deep and dirty and full of promise.
“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 …”
Riley’s jeans were dragged off and flung away.
“It’s a closely guarded secret that I’m jealous of the water when you take a shower -”
Spike was kneeling between his thighs, and sliding his middle finger into Riley’s mouth, working it round, as he said through gritted teeth: “- 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 Spike used him without mercy: teasing his hole and thrusting a finger - the finger that had been in his mouth - thrusting it into him, sending his core into meltdown.
He moaned appreciatively. But then Spike took it away and he had to take small breaths to get control as Spike stroked softly behind his sac, and murmured into his ear, so close that Riley could feel the breath.
“I know it’s perverse, but I’m insanely jealous of the air in your lungs and the blood in your veins. They keep you alive: something I can never do for you.”
“Perverse can be okay,” Riley said vaguely, his eyes glazing with lust.
Spike was curled around him like smoke, his low patter of foolish words and phrases that meant nothing and everything penetrating every pore - touching him - turning him on just as surely as if they had form and substance, and just when Riley was sure he could drill concrete with his dick, Spike took hold of it, and rubbed the bridge of his nose against the shaft.
Riley caught his breath. The head of his prick was 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 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.
“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 …”
And Riley came crashing to earth. He bit his lip.
“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 him 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. “Riley, please … You gotta stop treating me like I’m made out of sugar. I need you to … need you to stop it. Show me some respect. I’m a vampire - a monster - not a bloody china doll.”
Spike glanced regretfully at Riley’s softening cock and Riley covered himself with his hands.
“Not sayin’ that isn’t a monster, but it doesn’t scare me any.”
The bitterness in Spike’s voice chilled him to the core.
“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. “I’m 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’s voice was low and determined; his eyes were blue flints.
“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 - that 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.”
He’d been making Spike feel guilty? Riley took this in with a feeling of utter bewilderment. 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 at what Spike said, but even more by the casual way he’d said it.
“And you know what?” Spike went on. “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 rummage around in the nightstand drawer 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 do us both a favour: get down, and give it another go.”
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, finally finding his voice: “- 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 looked up and spoke again, more kindly.
“I love all the other stuff: teasing, foreplay, sucking each other 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 …” Spike’s head dropped again: “… 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. I just … don’t feel it.”
Riley stroked Spike’s forearm tentatively. “Oh, I want you. Want you too much.” He sighed deeply. “I had good intentions. Should get points for that, right?”
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.”
“No, I know you didn’t mate. Me neither.” Spike shook his head at himself and gestured at Riley to pass him the bottle, which he did.
Spike scanned the label. “’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 had been coming off Spike in waves a few minutes before. And suddenly, Riley didn’t know why he was making such a drama out of it. Anything Spike had done with Angel - anything Angel had done to - or with - Spike: none of it mattered a damn, when he saw Spike’s face: tight with anticipation but so beautiful: waiting on his word. If anyone had a right to make a big scene, it was Spike - but Spike was still here with him: had forgiven him, and always would; he’d said so.
What in God’s name was there to hold him back?
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.”
~~
When he felt Riley’s weight bear down on his thighs, 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 Riley’s knowing fingers 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 felt Riley running both thumbs firmly down his spine, 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.
He 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, he imagined himself Riley’s horse: not the big lanky grey, but the little compact chestnut job that could turn on a sixpence: 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 a kipper isn’t a proper animal!’ - and had 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 way 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 him, but facing away from his head. He leaned and reached and started rubbing Spike’s feet, and it tickled and at first Spike just bore it stoically, but when it stopped he could hardly bear it. As Riley turned his attention to 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 reached the insides of his thighs, thumbs kneading and pressing in, and he dared spread himself in invitation; hope and fear and desire stripping away a bit more of the little pride he had left. His eyes were prickling.
In answer to his silent prayer, a hand slid higher, and - as if by accident - Riley eased a slick finger inside him. Riley’s nervous exhalation told Spike how hard this was for him, so he just rasped gratefully, “Ye-ah ... 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 choked down the sob that bubbled up in his chest: made no protest. He’d been piling on the pressure: way too much pressure: couldn’t help himself; and now, though he ached so badly to feel it inside him - that gorgeous cock that was slapping teasingly against him - he was determined not to say or do anything to spook the man.
But his skin was on fire with borrowed heat, and when Riley sawed the edge of his hand between his buttocks, grazing his hole, he spread himself wider, wriggling and pressing back onto it, 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 him, and grunted appreciatively. 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.
Not spoiled then. Not that.
Making approving noises in his throat, Riley carried on massaging the magic lotion into his arse
Spike shuddered.
Must look a right little whore: presenting himself like this. He squeezed his eyes tight shut. The image was still there, and tore a desperate moan from his chest, but he arched his back, offering more, and Riley took full advantage, weighing his balls in his palm, rolling and caressing and - oh fuck - kissing and mouthing them, and taking his own sweet time about it, before reaching underneath to take his cock in hand, frustrating it with slight pressure.
As Spike thrust into that teasing hand, Riley breeched him again - two fingers this time, crooked to hit the spot - and he heard the wordless sounds of his own need amplified in his head, and bowed his head in shame and pressed back.
And Riley was petting 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.
A strangled whimper - the only sound Spike could make - must have been what Riley wanted to hear, because he did it again, over and over again, without mercy, until Spike was grunting with the effort - to come or not to, even he didn’t know which - then 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.
“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. He willed himself not to come; even as Riley parted him, 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 his balls; as Riley’s palms, and then with slow deliberation, fingers and thumbs spread him wider still, making his deprivation the greater - Oh! - even as he became a hot gaping void, starving for something, anything; then he was almost begging.
“Riley, please, fuck … God, oh, God … please, fuck -”
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 words; no hands; no reassurance - and it seemed like forever he was left untouched and utterly exposed, not knowing, and suspended in nothingness: the only sounds, the degrading, pleading whines and whimpers issuing from his own throat as he strained for anything that might let him hope.
Was a bottle being opened? Was Riley preparing himself?
Oh, yes.
Firm warm hands parted him - yes - and Riley covered and penetrated him, sliding home, hot and slick and vital, and he groaned, clenched around him and came in great juddering spurts, crying out the relief that flooded through him until his throat was raw; his muscles straining to stop himself collapsing.
“Bloody hell,” he said quietly, when he was 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 he’d stopped shaking. Then Riley 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 from him, 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. 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, his voice dismayed.
“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. He felt sore and vulnerable; 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