For Spanked Spike Ficathon: Losing at Gay Chicken
This is for whichclothes's "Spanked Spike Ficathon". I took the prompt: Spike/Riley spanking - Riley decides to punish Spike, Spike surprises him by being open to it.
And... that's pretty much what I did, though things didn't quite work out like I expected.
Losing at Gay Chicken
“No thanks,” Buffy said to Riley’s offer of a walk home, and quickly exited the Magic box, leaving Spike and Riley as the only ones left from the Scoobie meeting.
Riley turned around in time to see Spike’s little victory celebration dance. “What are you, twelve?
Spike quickly affected a bored look. “Are you still here?”
Riley shook his head and went to retrieve his backpack from the conference table. When he saw Spike was still hanging around watching him, he walked right up to the vampire, crowding his personal space. “You keep asking for trouble like that and someone just might give it to you.”
“Flirt,” Spike said, rolling his hips forward to bump Riley’s.
Riley’s eyelids fluttered nearly closed as he involuntarily reacted.
“Yeah,” Spike said, like he’d proven a point.
Riley grabbed his arm as he tried to saunter past. “What is this, a game of ‘gay chicken’? You’re trying to shock me?”
Spike looked down at the hand on his arm. “Oh no, I know enough about you soldier boys not to try that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, lackbrain,” Spike jerked his arm free, “that behind the mom-and-apple-pie façade you’re all a pair of leather chaps away from an S&M film.”
“We’re really not,” Riley said, regaining his calm.
“Right. Imagine it looks a bit different from outside the cage.” Spike tilted his head back, challenging. “Just a bit of fun. Blokes being blokes.”
Riley felt a pang of unease, but shook it off. “You aren’t that pretty, Spike.”
Flat sarcasm matched Spike’s affected bored expression. “Right, I changed my mind. You’re nothing like that lot. They’ll bugger you, then scatter like scared maidens if you suggest they might like men. Not you.”
Riley shifted his bag to his shoulder and spread his arms, addressing the room. “Why am I even having this conversation?”
“You started it. Said you were going to spank me.”
“I said…” Riley frowned, trying to remember. Had he said ‘spank’? Seriously? He didn’t think so. “Anyway, I didn’t mean it in a sexual way. I just think you need taking down a notch.”
Spike was again right in front of him as he tried to exit, grinning mischievously. “So do it.”
“What?” Riley put his fists on his hips. “I did actually major in psychology, you know. That whole ‘reverse’ trick doesn’t actually work.”
Spike crowded into Riley, grinning gleefully. “So tell me, professor - what will it take to get you to let go of your cornbread morality and actually hit me? Because I might actually be running out of witty repartee.”
“You want me to hit you?”
“Been ages since I had a good beating.” Spike said it like it was a snack food.
“I said I wanted to take you down a notch. That doesn’t work if you enjoy it.”
Spike shrugged, said, “Pity,” and turned to the door.
Riley stopped him, again, by grabbing his arm. “That doesn’t mean I won’t do it.” He felt a slight shudder through the firm muscle in his grip. It sent an answering jolt through him.
Okay, so Riley had been hard up for weeks, and dutifully avoiding vampires to boot. It wasn’t that he was actually attracted to Spike. That would be ridiculous. Spike was annoying, infuriating…
Hard. Riley didn’t have to psychoanalyze himself to know why he loved the feel of that hardness, that strength, and knowing it wouldn’t do the vampire a lick of good against him.
Spike rocked his hip into Riley. “So are you going to get on with it or do I have to really piss you off?”
Riley knew better, but he backhanded Spike anyway. Spike’s eyes narrow, his nostrils flare, and Riley can feel his desire to hit back. But then that anger slid down into a leer without even diminishing. “There we go,” Spike said. “That’s the army bastard I knew you were.”
Riley pushed him into the wall. “And stop talking about my men like that.”
“Oh, right. They’re your men. Intimate, were you?”
Riley supposed there wasn’t a jury in the world that would convict him for hitting Spike just then, so he did. Spike leaned into him, laughing, and he smacked Spike again.
Somehow it was five or six strikes before Riley realized what was happening. His heart racing, their bodies close and tight, sweat and friction building between them. He let go and took a step back. Spike stayed where he was, hip-shot, shoulders against the wall, looking every inch the young punk with a smirk on his split lip and the shine of impact on his cheekbone like blush.
Spike raised an eyebrow. “Was it good for you?”
That did it. Riley snatched Spike’s arm and dragged him protesting to the nearest chair. “You like getting hit?” Spike put up a struggle, all elbows and twisting, but Riley got him over his knee and pinned him down with a forearm pressing hard on his back. “Let’s see how you like being treated like your mental age.” He delivered an open-handed blow to Spike’s jean-clad ass that probably stung Riley’s hand worse.
Spike wriggled like he was getting comfortable. “Come on, put your weight into it!”
Despite the fact that Spike was literally asking for it, Riley complied, raining the hardest blows he could muster and feeling angry, frustrated, and a little ashamed. He’d hated spankings as a kid, and the whole thing had this taint - like it was incestuous to bring something he associated with his father to bear on Spike, who he associated with… Riley flinched away from the thought.
“Here,” Spike said suddenly, and easily slipped out of Riley’s hold. “Works better bare-arse.” He unbuckled his belt.
Riley was delayed a bit in response as he considered that Spike had LET him muscle him over his lap, but he managed to grab Spike’s wrist just as he unzipped to stop him. “You… I…”
Spike raised both eyebrows expectantly and hooked his free thumb in the top of his jeans, pulling the denim down.
Riley took hold of both of Spike’s wrists. “Is the only way to punish you to refuse to punish you?”
Spike stepped into Riley’s hold, a sinful smile curling his lips. “Thought you were Mr. Psych Major and knew all that.”
“I really, really don’t get you.”
“You don’t have to,” Spike said, drawing Riley’s hands toward his waist.
The slight gap of Spike’s jeans exposed smooth, sculpted flesh, and Riley had to admit that there was more than a small part of him that wanted to expose more, but he paused, fingertips just grazing cool skin. Since it was now abundantly clear this was about sex, not punishment, Riley said, “I don’t LIKE you.”
“I know,” Spike said with a laugh behind his voice. “Makes it better, doesn’t it?”
“No, it doesn’t. I don’t sleep with people I don’t love.”
Spike’s hips move sinuously, causing the denim to slip lower as he leaned close to Riley’s ear. “Try it, mate. Go hard as you like, long as you like, don’t bother with foreplay - because I don’t matter, I’m nothing to you.” Another snake-like move, and Riley felt bare skin under his hands, unsure when he’d let go of Spike’s wrists. Spike’s hands were on his shoulders now. “You’ve been a good boy lately, I notice. All work and no play. Dip back into that dark side. Anger and lust aren’t that far apart, are they?”
“I know what I’m getting out of this,” Riley said, and pushed Spike back to arm’s length. “What’s in it for you? Is this a set-up?”
The sudden realization in Spike’s face showed he hadn’t thought of that possibility, but wished he had. He recovered into a shrug. “I like violence - for it’s own sake. And knowing I caused it? That I affect you so much?” He stroked himself - he was naked to mid-thigh, now, his cock hard and weeping. “Delicious. So come on - show me how much you care.”
Riley’s mouth was dry and he found he really, really cared. He threw Spike down across the conference table, feeling his jean-trapped thighs hard against his own, he pressed into him, humping against bared flesh. Spike laughed in triumph and bucked him off, then staggered, holding his head and muttering, “Silicone has no fucking respect for a bit of fun.”
Riley tackled him, and Spike struggled good and hard - at least until his elbow made contact with Riley’s temple and he went rigid with pain.
“Yeah, keep fighting, Spike. How’s it working out for you?”
“Perfect,” Spike ground out through gritted teeth. His hands were mauling over Riley’s skin, just rough enough to feel good, like he was climbing his way to Riley’s cock, and then he was there, grasping tight and sure, and Riley saw stars.
Yeah, he was going to have to find a way to punish Spike for this. Later.
He flipped Spike over and jabbed hard between his ass cheeks, letting the curve of flesh guide his fingers home. As his fingertips breached, Spike stiffened and made a soft, subvocal sound, the first sign of real emotion, as far as Riley could tell. It almost stopped him, but Spike pressed back against him, head back and eyes squeezed shut. Tight flesh opened around his fingers, sucking him in.
Riley firmly shut down the part of his mind screaming that all of this was way to wrong and guided his cock into that tight channel.
He didn’t know he’d closed his eyes until he opened them and saw Spike staring back at him, over his shoulder, like he was trying to read something in Riley’s face.
It was disconcerting, but also hard to think about when his cock was being squeezed and his hips were rocking a gentle rhythm, the pleasure building up and every nerve screaming for more. Spike let his head drop and Riley felt a measure of relief, like he’d been let go. Spike’s hips were smooth as satin and just the right curve for the insides of Riley’s palms. He held on tight and thrust for all he was worth, hard and brutal, giving them both what they needed. Nothing mattered but friction and going as hard as possible. Wood cracked, splintered, and banged into his shin, but he wouldn’t have stopped for machine gun fire.
Riley would like to have held onto some sense of what he was doing, who he was with, but after he came, a white flash like ignition, he was surprised to find that slender male back beneath him, and he was left with a slight feeling of not being sure how he’d gotten where he was, what was causing the hot spurts of come to squeeze out of him. When he let go, the fat, fingertip bruises on Spike’s creamy flesh seemed to have been caused by someone else.
The table was listing at a dangerous angle. Riley’s legs were made of rubber, and he had blood on his thigh from something. He tried to sit in a nearby chair and missed, falling to the floor.
Spike sort of poured off the table to join him. Eyeing the wound on Riley’s leg, he said, “Waste not, want not,” and bent to lick the congealing blood.
Riley hissed, his cock valiantly stirring back to life. Spike licked a little longer than necessary, and when he lifted up from the minor cut his lips were a scant inch from Riley’s cock, which twinged with over-sensitivity. Spike blew a kiss and sat back with a smug smirk.
Riley frowned. “You didn’t enjoy that as much as you act like you did. It’s all an act, isn’t it?”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Now you’re going to psychoanalyze me?”
“I like to understand things.”
Spike shrugged off Riley’s reaching hand, smiled his half-smile, and got up. “I like not being understood,” he said, picking up his jeans on his way to the door.
Riley sat back, alone, debauched and half naked. Whatever Spike had wanted to accomplish, he had done it - and whatever Riley had wanted out of the encounter certainly this wasn’t it.
He’d set out wanting to take Spike down a notch, and ended up down several himself. He sighed and picked himself up. Maybe he’d been setting out to punish himself from the start. He looked down at the tilted table and felt a stirring. He was already wondering when he could arrange it to happen again.
And... that's pretty much what I did, though things didn't quite work out like I expected.
Losing at Gay Chicken
“No thanks,” Buffy said to Riley’s offer of a walk home, and quickly exited the Magic box, leaving Spike and Riley as the only ones left from the Scoobie meeting.
Riley turned around in time to see Spike’s little victory celebration dance. “What are you, twelve?
Spike quickly affected a bored look. “Are you still here?”
Riley shook his head and went to retrieve his backpack from the conference table. When he saw Spike was still hanging around watching him, he walked right up to the vampire, crowding his personal space. “You keep asking for trouble like that and someone just might give it to you.”
“Flirt,” Spike said, rolling his hips forward to bump Riley’s.
Riley’s eyelids fluttered nearly closed as he involuntarily reacted.
“Yeah,” Spike said, like he’d proven a point.
Riley grabbed his arm as he tried to saunter past. “What is this, a game of ‘gay chicken’? You’re trying to shock me?”
Spike looked down at the hand on his arm. “Oh no, I know enough about you soldier boys not to try that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, lackbrain,” Spike jerked his arm free, “that behind the mom-and-apple-pie façade you’re all a pair of leather chaps away from an S&M film.”
“We’re really not,” Riley said, regaining his calm.
“Right. Imagine it looks a bit different from outside the cage.” Spike tilted his head back, challenging. “Just a bit of fun. Blokes being blokes.”
Riley felt a pang of unease, but shook it off. “You aren’t that pretty, Spike.”
Flat sarcasm matched Spike’s affected bored expression. “Right, I changed my mind. You’re nothing like that lot. They’ll bugger you, then scatter like scared maidens if you suggest they might like men. Not you.”
Riley shifted his bag to his shoulder and spread his arms, addressing the room. “Why am I even having this conversation?”
“You started it. Said you were going to spank me.”
“I said…” Riley frowned, trying to remember. Had he said ‘spank’? Seriously? He didn’t think so. “Anyway, I didn’t mean it in a sexual way. I just think you need taking down a notch.”
Spike was again right in front of him as he tried to exit, grinning mischievously. “So do it.”
“What?” Riley put his fists on his hips. “I did actually major in psychology, you know. That whole ‘reverse’ trick doesn’t actually work.”
Spike crowded into Riley, grinning gleefully. “So tell me, professor - what will it take to get you to let go of your cornbread morality and actually hit me? Because I might actually be running out of witty repartee.”
“You want me to hit you?”
“Been ages since I had a good beating.” Spike said it like it was a snack food.
“I said I wanted to take you down a notch. That doesn’t work if you enjoy it.”
Spike shrugged, said, “Pity,” and turned to the door.
Riley stopped him, again, by grabbing his arm. “That doesn’t mean I won’t do it.” He felt a slight shudder through the firm muscle in his grip. It sent an answering jolt through him.
Okay, so Riley had been hard up for weeks, and dutifully avoiding vampires to boot. It wasn’t that he was actually attracted to Spike. That would be ridiculous. Spike was annoying, infuriating…
Hard. Riley didn’t have to psychoanalyze himself to know why he loved the feel of that hardness, that strength, and knowing it wouldn’t do the vampire a lick of good against him.
Spike rocked his hip into Riley. “So are you going to get on with it or do I have to really piss you off?”
Riley knew better, but he backhanded Spike anyway. Spike’s eyes narrow, his nostrils flare, and Riley can feel his desire to hit back. But then that anger slid down into a leer without even diminishing. “There we go,” Spike said. “That’s the army bastard I knew you were.”
Riley pushed him into the wall. “And stop talking about my men like that.”
“Oh, right. They’re your men. Intimate, were you?”
Riley supposed there wasn’t a jury in the world that would convict him for hitting Spike just then, so he did. Spike leaned into him, laughing, and he smacked Spike again.
Somehow it was five or six strikes before Riley realized what was happening. His heart racing, their bodies close and tight, sweat and friction building between them. He let go and took a step back. Spike stayed where he was, hip-shot, shoulders against the wall, looking every inch the young punk with a smirk on his split lip and the shine of impact on his cheekbone like blush.
Spike raised an eyebrow. “Was it good for you?”
That did it. Riley snatched Spike’s arm and dragged him protesting to the nearest chair. “You like getting hit?” Spike put up a struggle, all elbows and twisting, but Riley got him over his knee and pinned him down with a forearm pressing hard on his back. “Let’s see how you like being treated like your mental age.” He delivered an open-handed blow to Spike’s jean-clad ass that probably stung Riley’s hand worse.
Spike wriggled like he was getting comfortable. “Come on, put your weight into it!”
Despite the fact that Spike was literally asking for it, Riley complied, raining the hardest blows he could muster and feeling angry, frustrated, and a little ashamed. He’d hated spankings as a kid, and the whole thing had this taint - like it was incestuous to bring something he associated with his father to bear on Spike, who he associated with… Riley flinched away from the thought.
“Here,” Spike said suddenly, and easily slipped out of Riley’s hold. “Works better bare-arse.” He unbuckled his belt.
Riley was delayed a bit in response as he considered that Spike had LET him muscle him over his lap, but he managed to grab Spike’s wrist just as he unzipped to stop him. “You… I…”
Spike raised both eyebrows expectantly and hooked his free thumb in the top of his jeans, pulling the denim down.
Riley took hold of both of Spike’s wrists. “Is the only way to punish you to refuse to punish you?”
Spike stepped into Riley’s hold, a sinful smile curling his lips. “Thought you were Mr. Psych Major and knew all that.”
“I really, really don’t get you.”
“You don’t have to,” Spike said, drawing Riley’s hands toward his waist.
The slight gap of Spike’s jeans exposed smooth, sculpted flesh, and Riley had to admit that there was more than a small part of him that wanted to expose more, but he paused, fingertips just grazing cool skin. Since it was now abundantly clear this was about sex, not punishment, Riley said, “I don’t LIKE you.”
“I know,” Spike said with a laugh behind his voice. “Makes it better, doesn’t it?”
“No, it doesn’t. I don’t sleep with people I don’t love.”
Spike’s hips move sinuously, causing the denim to slip lower as he leaned close to Riley’s ear. “Try it, mate. Go hard as you like, long as you like, don’t bother with foreplay - because I don’t matter, I’m nothing to you.” Another snake-like move, and Riley felt bare skin under his hands, unsure when he’d let go of Spike’s wrists. Spike’s hands were on his shoulders now. “You’ve been a good boy lately, I notice. All work and no play. Dip back into that dark side. Anger and lust aren’t that far apart, are they?”
“I know what I’m getting out of this,” Riley said, and pushed Spike back to arm’s length. “What’s in it for you? Is this a set-up?”
The sudden realization in Spike’s face showed he hadn’t thought of that possibility, but wished he had. He recovered into a shrug. “I like violence - for it’s own sake. And knowing I caused it? That I affect you so much?” He stroked himself - he was naked to mid-thigh, now, his cock hard and weeping. “Delicious. So come on - show me how much you care.”
Riley’s mouth was dry and he found he really, really cared. He threw Spike down across the conference table, feeling his jean-trapped thighs hard against his own, he pressed into him, humping against bared flesh. Spike laughed in triumph and bucked him off, then staggered, holding his head and muttering, “Silicone has no fucking respect for a bit of fun.”
Riley tackled him, and Spike struggled good and hard - at least until his elbow made contact with Riley’s temple and he went rigid with pain.
“Yeah, keep fighting, Spike. How’s it working out for you?”
“Perfect,” Spike ground out through gritted teeth. His hands were mauling over Riley’s skin, just rough enough to feel good, like he was climbing his way to Riley’s cock, and then he was there, grasping tight and sure, and Riley saw stars.
Yeah, he was going to have to find a way to punish Spike for this. Later.
He flipped Spike over and jabbed hard between his ass cheeks, letting the curve of flesh guide his fingers home. As his fingertips breached, Spike stiffened and made a soft, subvocal sound, the first sign of real emotion, as far as Riley could tell. It almost stopped him, but Spike pressed back against him, head back and eyes squeezed shut. Tight flesh opened around his fingers, sucking him in.
Riley firmly shut down the part of his mind screaming that all of this was way to wrong and guided his cock into that tight channel.
He didn’t know he’d closed his eyes until he opened them and saw Spike staring back at him, over his shoulder, like he was trying to read something in Riley’s face.
It was disconcerting, but also hard to think about when his cock was being squeezed and his hips were rocking a gentle rhythm, the pleasure building up and every nerve screaming for more. Spike let his head drop and Riley felt a measure of relief, like he’d been let go. Spike’s hips were smooth as satin and just the right curve for the insides of Riley’s palms. He held on tight and thrust for all he was worth, hard and brutal, giving them both what they needed. Nothing mattered but friction and going as hard as possible. Wood cracked, splintered, and banged into his shin, but he wouldn’t have stopped for machine gun fire.
Riley would like to have held onto some sense of what he was doing, who he was with, but after he came, a white flash like ignition, he was surprised to find that slender male back beneath him, and he was left with a slight feeling of not being sure how he’d gotten where he was, what was causing the hot spurts of come to squeeze out of him. When he let go, the fat, fingertip bruises on Spike’s creamy flesh seemed to have been caused by someone else.
The table was listing at a dangerous angle. Riley’s legs were made of rubber, and he had blood on his thigh from something. He tried to sit in a nearby chair and missed, falling to the floor.
Spike sort of poured off the table to join him. Eyeing the wound on Riley’s leg, he said, “Waste not, want not,” and bent to lick the congealing blood.
Riley hissed, his cock valiantly stirring back to life. Spike licked a little longer than necessary, and when he lifted up from the minor cut his lips were a scant inch from Riley’s cock, which twinged with over-sensitivity. Spike blew a kiss and sat back with a smug smirk.
Riley frowned. “You didn’t enjoy that as much as you act like you did. It’s all an act, isn’t it?”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Now you’re going to psychoanalyze me?”
“I like to understand things.”
Spike shrugged off Riley’s reaching hand, smiled his half-smile, and got up. “I like not being understood,” he said, picking up his jeans on his way to the door.
Riley sat back, alone, debauched and half naked. Whatever Spike had wanted to accomplish, he had done it - and whatever Riley had wanted out of the encounter certainly this wasn’t it.
He’d set out wanting to take Spike down a notch, and ended up down several himself. He sighed and picked himself up. Maybe he’d been setting out to punish himself from the start. He looked down at the tilted table and felt a stirring. He was already wondering when he could arrange it to happen again.