For Shapinglight: Codependent
This is for Shapinglight who asked for some Spike/Riley, preferably in the mode of my "Large and In Charge" Spiley fic.
I decided to write the Spiley I have ALWAYS wanted to write.
Codependent
Picture, if you will, the moment after the fade-out on Spike and Riley sharing a bottle in the crypt after Riley’s fake stake attempt…
“Well, don’t boggart it.”
Riley looked up. Spike pointed at the bottle. “Oh. Sorry.” He held it out. Spike moved closer. They were past the tossing stage in the shared drinking.
“What I don’t figure,” Spike said, far more cheerfully than Riley would have liked, “is the whole biting business. I suppose it’s like that cat and mouse thing, where the mouse gets jonsing for cats because of a bacteria or something.”
Riley stared at Spike. “You really don’t get it?”
Spike scowled. “What?” He handed back the whisky bottle.
“Come on. You’re the vampire. You should know more about biting than I do.”
Spike leaned back, apparently just to lend extra height to his raised eyebrow. “Okay, first off - all being a vampire says is that you have, in fact, been bitten once. Second off, you don’t need even that to know it HURTS.” Spike frowned at Riley’s expression. “Doesn’t it?”
“Really the opposite. Seriously? All those years? You never… with other vampires?”
“Well, yeah - Dru and I used to nip at each other and Angelus… well, he has dominance issues. But it always hurt, mate.”
Riley shrugged. “Maybe you were doing it wrong.” He smiled as he passed the bottle back to soften the blow, but Spike looked genuinely offended.
“There’s no ‘doing it wrong’.”
Maybe it was the alcohol starting to calm and warm him, but Riley couldn’t help saying, “Seems to me you’re a crappy vampire if you can’t even bite someone without it hurting.”
“Oi! I could if I wanted. Just… never wanted.”
“Really? Because if you could bite without it hurting, genius, you’d be able to feed with the chip.”
Riley barely held back his laugh at the dumbfounded look on Spike’s face that melted into transparent plotting. “You think that’d work?”
“You’d have to try to find out.”
Spike drained the last of the whiskey bottle and then dropped himself into the spot right next to Riley. “Let’s have a go, then,” he said.
“Woah.” Riley pushed him away. “You’re not my type.”
Spike managed to crawl onto Riley before he could push him away. “Sure I am. I have fangs. Come on, you can’t throw down the gauntlet like that and not give us a go.”
“Dude.”
“Shush.” Spike’s eyes tracked to Riley’s neck. He licked his lower lip, a look of careful concentration stilling his features.
“Seriously,” Riley said, “I’m not comf… oh fuck.”
Spike’s lips were cool and gentle on Riley’s neck, the tips of his fangs lightly grazing his skin. Goosebumps sprung out along the entire right side of Riley’s body. “Stop that,” he said, unconvincingly.
And then, with maddening slowness, those fangs sank into his skin. Riley felt Spike release a held breath at the same time that he did. And then the fangs sank a little more.
Riley pressed down hard on the desire to groan. Spike’s body was tense and hard against him, quivering slightly. He could feel the repressed hunger, barely under control. There was something so perverse about that tension mixed with the slowly building, too-gentle pleasure spreading like warmth from his neck. Riley found himself holding on tightly to Spike, not sure if he wanted to scream at him to stop or go harder. A little edge of pain was all that was missing. (He hadn’t lied about the pleasure, but Spike was right about the pain - it was just that, done right, pain was like a spice on pleasure.)
Spike’s fangs sank a fraction deeper, a spark of sensation, sharp and bright, sent Riley over the edge. His vision whited out and he felt himself come, hard and long.
Riley blinked away stars and gasped for breath. His jeans were sticking to him and rapidly cooling. He shifted uncomfortably and saw Spike hunched over, hands on his head.
Then those bright blue eyes were peeking over at him, and a smirk covered the pained expression. “Guess one of us really enjoyed that.”
Riley stumbled to his feet and did his best to run away, though he had to take several wide bow-legged steps around the stiff denim at his crotch. He heard Spike laughing as he staggered out into the night.
***
Spike woke in the middle of the day, hard and frustrated. It had been hell, controlling himself, sipping so slowly while delicious, hot fresh blood trickled into his mouth.
Absolute hell. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The bagged blood in his fridge looked utterly unappetizing, so he hadn’t eaten. He didn’t want to take the taste away from his mouth. Sweet and tangy and salty and HUMAN.
He shifted and took himself in hand. Wouldn’t the farm boy be thrilled to know he’d become Spike’s primary wank-fantasy?
It was quite the head trip, though, how Riley had come without even being touched. Spike had felt the hot, hard impressions on his biceps where Riley’s hands had gripped him, held onto him hike a drowning man. Christ, who wouldn’t want to be wanted so completely?
It had been a full day since The Bite and there hadn’t been a moment he hadn’t thought about it, replayed it, considered how he could have avoided that moment when he went a little too far and set off the chip.
He closed his eyes, breathed out slowly, and tried to come up with an image other than Riley as his hand slowly teased his length. Dru. Buffy. Angel. Hell, Harmony. Anyone but… no, there he was, warm and muscular and desperate. Strong. Alive.
Spike gave in to the fantasy. His hand sped up, stripping up and over the crown, twisting just a little. He lifted his hips from the bed and breathed heavily.
The door upstairs banged open. Heavy footsteps. A hearbeat. Christ. Spike stilled a moment, considered whether he could get off before the big oaf came down the stairs and, regretfully, decided it was not likely. Besides, a small part of him he didn’t want to admit was more interested in seeing Riley than finishing his wank. He even pulled on his jeans, though he left them unbuttoned, before climbing up the ladder to the main floor two rungs at a time.
“What’s this, then?” He popped up, grinning.
Riley looked away and fidgeted with the bottom of his shirt. “I should… uh… never mind.” He turned back to the door.
Spike easily got between him and the exit. “Not come to warn me off your girl again? Or, what? Did one of the little kiddies fall down a well and you need old Spike’s help? No?” He lowered his voice, “or are you jonesing for a little fang?”
Spike could smell the blood rising in Riley’s cheeks. “Fuck you,” he said.
Spike smiled, mouth open to taste more of the delicious shame pouring off the boy. “That might cost extra.”
The spike of spicy arousal in the air and Riley’s hot look told him that might not be so idle an idea. Spike licked his lips. “Fifty,” he said.
Riley blinked and took a step back. “I’m not paying you.”
“Why not? You paid in the suck-house.”
“Those vampires could kill me. They could be out killing - they accept payment in exchange for just tasting.”
“Sure, bring up my little problem, that’ll woo me.”
“I’m not trying to woo you.”
“Liar.” Spike stepped close enough to feel the brush of Riley’s hard cock through denim. He licked his lips. “Why else would you be in my crypt with your tongue hanging out?”
Riley exhaled, long and slow and hot against Spike’s cheek. “Just bite me,” he said, low and quick.
“We haven’t agreed on my payment.”
Riley picked Spike up and pushed him against the wall. “You get my blood.”
Spike had to admit it did something to him, being manhandled by a large man like that. He bit his lip. They locked eyes. He slowly released his breath. “Don’t tell the other vampires I’m this easy.”
Riley let him down. “You are anything but easy.”
“Come downstairs, let’s do this right and comfortable.” Spike glanced down. “You might want to take your jeans off this time.”
He hopped down to the lower level, knowing that Riley would follow and feeling rather smug about that.
Spike sat back against the headboard and fluffed the pillows to make himself comfortable. Riley came down the ladder like he was going to be punished. He stood awkwardly at the foot of the ladder, looking across at Spike. “This isn’t… it’s not like that.”
“Oh, so you didn’t come all over yourself last time?”
Riley looked away, jaw tight. “It’s not… sexual.”
“Leave your pants on, then, just don’t blame me when they’re sticking to you. Comfortable walk home, was it?”
Riley put one hand on the ladder, and then one foot, and then his shoulders sank and he turned back toward the bed. He unzipped and shucked his jeans, approaching in just his shirt. His cock was full and hard and quite hefty. Spike imagined it would be silky and hot in his hand, but pushed back that thought. This was about getting HIMSELF off and he would, too, this time. He just had to control himself long enough.
Riley was stiff, sitting down, grudgingly scooting closer. Every line of his body hard and unwilling, save that eager cock pushing out from under the hem of his shirt. “Let’s get this over with.”
Spike considered taking his own jeans off, too. They were already tight and uncomfortable. The two of them must look quite the pair -one nude from the waist down and the other from the waist up. But Riley might bolt if Spike stripped down, so he decided not to. Riley flinched at Spike’s first touch on his arm, but held still. Christ he was warm, all that delicious heat radiating even through the rough fabric of his polo shirt. Still, Spike only touched him as little as possible to get into position. He looked a long time at the still-fresh puncture at the join of Riley’s neck and shoulder. No, his plan was to go for a deeper vein, a slower tap. He moved down the shoulder to wear the muscle was thick and let his fangs descend.
It was slow work, getting into the skin, but Spike felt like he had a good idea how fast he could go this time. He focused on not reacting when the first drop of blood hit him, pre-imagining the taste and the sensation. He was so focused it wasn’t until he’d been drinking a few seconds that he realized Riley had relaxed and had pulled closer to him. Easily they molded together, chest to chest. No, not sexual at all. Spike wrapped his arms and legs around the thick, muscular body and used the contact to ground himself against the maddening itch screaming at him to gorge, hurt, kill.
Riley really did have a monster of a cock, and it felt good, hard and solid, pressing against Spike’s through denim. It seemed natural to press together in rhythm with Riley’s quickening heartbeat. The denim was getting more uncomfortable, but Spike kept at it, feeling the draw of zipper teeth sawing into his flesh.
It was Riley who pushed Spike’s jeans down and urged him out of them. The wriggle around slowed his feeding, but oh, it was worth it to be skin-on-skin, smooth and warm. The hot head of Riley’s cock fucked eagerly against his stomach, smearing hot dribbles of pre-cum between them. Spike slipped a hand between them and grabbed both cocks together. It felt marvelous and maddeningly not enough, just like the blood trickling past his lips. He pumped once and felt Riley stiffen, felt the orgasm move through him like an earthquake. The unexpected power of it drew Spike right over the edge with him. Cold and hot spunk mixed between them, smeared into an adhesive as they shuddered to a stop.
Spike licked his lips, and the small wound on Riley’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he said. Bonelessly, he fell back on the bed. Riley was a heavy weight on top of him. They were still and silent together for a while. Spike cleared his throat. “This might become a problem,” he said.
Riley picked himself up on his elbows. His hair was hanging in his face, pupils were still blown wide. “Huh?”
“We have a problem,” Spike said. He gestured between them. “Like a drug problem that walks around and talks and might stake me. I don’t see this ending well.”
Riley nodded at the bed-sheet between his elbows. Then he looked up. “Maybe not,” he said. And then he leaned over and kissed Spike, firmly on the lips. “But I don’t know what I’d do with happy ever after, anyway.”
Spike stared in amazement after Riley as he got up and put his jeans back on. Something stirred in his chest and he laughed. “No, I wouldn’t either. Oh, we are fucked.”
Riley didn’t disagree, Spike noted, only smiled a little sadly and beat his hasty retreat.
“Truly, truly fucked.” Spike tried to care a bit. Instead, he made a mental note to find out where Riley lived and get an invite.
Holy cow, she did it again - have a Sequel!
I decided to write the Spiley I have ALWAYS wanted to write.
Codependent
Picture, if you will, the moment after the fade-out on Spike and Riley sharing a bottle in the crypt after Riley’s fake stake attempt…
“Well, don’t boggart it.”
Riley looked up. Spike pointed at the bottle. “Oh. Sorry.” He held it out. Spike moved closer. They were past the tossing stage in the shared drinking.
“What I don’t figure,” Spike said, far more cheerfully than Riley would have liked, “is the whole biting business. I suppose it’s like that cat and mouse thing, where the mouse gets jonsing for cats because of a bacteria or something.”
Riley stared at Spike. “You really don’t get it?”
Spike scowled. “What?” He handed back the whisky bottle.
“Come on. You’re the vampire. You should know more about biting than I do.”
Spike leaned back, apparently just to lend extra height to his raised eyebrow. “Okay, first off - all being a vampire says is that you have, in fact, been bitten once. Second off, you don’t need even that to know it HURTS.” Spike frowned at Riley’s expression. “Doesn’t it?”
“Really the opposite. Seriously? All those years? You never… with other vampires?”
“Well, yeah - Dru and I used to nip at each other and Angelus… well, he has dominance issues. But it always hurt, mate.”
Riley shrugged. “Maybe you were doing it wrong.” He smiled as he passed the bottle back to soften the blow, but Spike looked genuinely offended.
“There’s no ‘doing it wrong’.”
Maybe it was the alcohol starting to calm and warm him, but Riley couldn’t help saying, “Seems to me you’re a crappy vampire if you can’t even bite someone without it hurting.”
“Oi! I could if I wanted. Just… never wanted.”
“Really? Because if you could bite without it hurting, genius, you’d be able to feed with the chip.”
Riley barely held back his laugh at the dumbfounded look on Spike’s face that melted into transparent plotting. “You think that’d work?”
“You’d have to try to find out.”
Spike drained the last of the whiskey bottle and then dropped himself into the spot right next to Riley. “Let’s have a go, then,” he said.
“Woah.” Riley pushed him away. “You’re not my type.”
Spike managed to crawl onto Riley before he could push him away. “Sure I am. I have fangs. Come on, you can’t throw down the gauntlet like that and not give us a go.”
“Dude.”
“Shush.” Spike’s eyes tracked to Riley’s neck. He licked his lower lip, a look of careful concentration stilling his features.
“Seriously,” Riley said, “I’m not comf… oh fuck.”
Spike’s lips were cool and gentle on Riley’s neck, the tips of his fangs lightly grazing his skin. Goosebumps sprung out along the entire right side of Riley’s body. “Stop that,” he said, unconvincingly.
And then, with maddening slowness, those fangs sank into his skin. Riley felt Spike release a held breath at the same time that he did. And then the fangs sank a little more.
Riley pressed down hard on the desire to groan. Spike’s body was tense and hard against him, quivering slightly. He could feel the repressed hunger, barely under control. There was something so perverse about that tension mixed with the slowly building, too-gentle pleasure spreading like warmth from his neck. Riley found himself holding on tightly to Spike, not sure if he wanted to scream at him to stop or go harder. A little edge of pain was all that was missing. (He hadn’t lied about the pleasure, but Spike was right about the pain - it was just that, done right, pain was like a spice on pleasure.)
Spike’s fangs sank a fraction deeper, a spark of sensation, sharp and bright, sent Riley over the edge. His vision whited out and he felt himself come, hard and long.
Riley blinked away stars and gasped for breath. His jeans were sticking to him and rapidly cooling. He shifted uncomfortably and saw Spike hunched over, hands on his head.
Then those bright blue eyes were peeking over at him, and a smirk covered the pained expression. “Guess one of us really enjoyed that.”
Riley stumbled to his feet and did his best to run away, though he had to take several wide bow-legged steps around the stiff denim at his crotch. He heard Spike laughing as he staggered out into the night.
***
Spike woke in the middle of the day, hard and frustrated. It had been hell, controlling himself, sipping so slowly while delicious, hot fresh blood trickled into his mouth.
Absolute hell. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The bagged blood in his fridge looked utterly unappetizing, so he hadn’t eaten. He didn’t want to take the taste away from his mouth. Sweet and tangy and salty and HUMAN.
He shifted and took himself in hand. Wouldn’t the farm boy be thrilled to know he’d become Spike’s primary wank-fantasy?
It was quite the head trip, though, how Riley had come without even being touched. Spike had felt the hot, hard impressions on his biceps where Riley’s hands had gripped him, held onto him hike a drowning man. Christ, who wouldn’t want to be wanted so completely?
It had been a full day since The Bite and there hadn’t been a moment he hadn’t thought about it, replayed it, considered how he could have avoided that moment when he went a little too far and set off the chip.
He closed his eyes, breathed out slowly, and tried to come up with an image other than Riley as his hand slowly teased his length. Dru. Buffy. Angel. Hell, Harmony. Anyone but… no, there he was, warm and muscular and desperate. Strong. Alive.
Spike gave in to the fantasy. His hand sped up, stripping up and over the crown, twisting just a little. He lifted his hips from the bed and breathed heavily.
The door upstairs banged open. Heavy footsteps. A hearbeat. Christ. Spike stilled a moment, considered whether he could get off before the big oaf came down the stairs and, regretfully, decided it was not likely. Besides, a small part of him he didn’t want to admit was more interested in seeing Riley than finishing his wank. He even pulled on his jeans, though he left them unbuttoned, before climbing up the ladder to the main floor two rungs at a time.
“What’s this, then?” He popped up, grinning.
Riley looked away and fidgeted with the bottom of his shirt. “I should… uh… never mind.” He turned back to the door.
Spike easily got between him and the exit. “Not come to warn me off your girl again? Or, what? Did one of the little kiddies fall down a well and you need old Spike’s help? No?” He lowered his voice, “or are you jonesing for a little fang?”
Spike could smell the blood rising in Riley’s cheeks. “Fuck you,” he said.
Spike smiled, mouth open to taste more of the delicious shame pouring off the boy. “That might cost extra.”
The spike of spicy arousal in the air and Riley’s hot look told him that might not be so idle an idea. Spike licked his lips. “Fifty,” he said.
Riley blinked and took a step back. “I’m not paying you.”
“Why not? You paid in the suck-house.”
“Those vampires could kill me. They could be out killing - they accept payment in exchange for just tasting.”
“Sure, bring up my little problem, that’ll woo me.”
“I’m not trying to woo you.”
“Liar.” Spike stepped close enough to feel the brush of Riley’s hard cock through denim. He licked his lips. “Why else would you be in my crypt with your tongue hanging out?”
Riley exhaled, long and slow and hot against Spike’s cheek. “Just bite me,” he said, low and quick.
“We haven’t agreed on my payment.”
Riley picked Spike up and pushed him against the wall. “You get my blood.”
Spike had to admit it did something to him, being manhandled by a large man like that. He bit his lip. They locked eyes. He slowly released his breath. “Don’t tell the other vampires I’m this easy.”
Riley let him down. “You are anything but easy.”
“Come downstairs, let’s do this right and comfortable.” Spike glanced down. “You might want to take your jeans off this time.”
He hopped down to the lower level, knowing that Riley would follow and feeling rather smug about that.
Spike sat back against the headboard and fluffed the pillows to make himself comfortable. Riley came down the ladder like he was going to be punished. He stood awkwardly at the foot of the ladder, looking across at Spike. “This isn’t… it’s not like that.”
“Oh, so you didn’t come all over yourself last time?”
Riley looked away, jaw tight. “It’s not… sexual.”
“Leave your pants on, then, just don’t blame me when they’re sticking to you. Comfortable walk home, was it?”
Riley put one hand on the ladder, and then one foot, and then his shoulders sank and he turned back toward the bed. He unzipped and shucked his jeans, approaching in just his shirt. His cock was full and hard and quite hefty. Spike imagined it would be silky and hot in his hand, but pushed back that thought. This was about getting HIMSELF off and he would, too, this time. He just had to control himself long enough.
Riley was stiff, sitting down, grudgingly scooting closer. Every line of his body hard and unwilling, save that eager cock pushing out from under the hem of his shirt. “Let’s get this over with.”
Spike considered taking his own jeans off, too. They were already tight and uncomfortable. The two of them must look quite the pair -one nude from the waist down and the other from the waist up. But Riley might bolt if Spike stripped down, so he decided not to. Riley flinched at Spike’s first touch on his arm, but held still. Christ he was warm, all that delicious heat radiating even through the rough fabric of his polo shirt. Still, Spike only touched him as little as possible to get into position. He looked a long time at the still-fresh puncture at the join of Riley’s neck and shoulder. No, his plan was to go for a deeper vein, a slower tap. He moved down the shoulder to wear the muscle was thick and let his fangs descend.
It was slow work, getting into the skin, but Spike felt like he had a good idea how fast he could go this time. He focused on not reacting when the first drop of blood hit him, pre-imagining the taste and the sensation. He was so focused it wasn’t until he’d been drinking a few seconds that he realized Riley had relaxed and had pulled closer to him. Easily they molded together, chest to chest. No, not sexual at all. Spike wrapped his arms and legs around the thick, muscular body and used the contact to ground himself against the maddening itch screaming at him to gorge, hurt, kill.
Riley really did have a monster of a cock, and it felt good, hard and solid, pressing against Spike’s through denim. It seemed natural to press together in rhythm with Riley’s quickening heartbeat. The denim was getting more uncomfortable, but Spike kept at it, feeling the draw of zipper teeth sawing into his flesh.
It was Riley who pushed Spike’s jeans down and urged him out of them. The wriggle around slowed his feeding, but oh, it was worth it to be skin-on-skin, smooth and warm. The hot head of Riley’s cock fucked eagerly against his stomach, smearing hot dribbles of pre-cum between them. Spike slipped a hand between them and grabbed both cocks together. It felt marvelous and maddeningly not enough, just like the blood trickling past his lips. He pumped once and felt Riley stiffen, felt the orgasm move through him like an earthquake. The unexpected power of it drew Spike right over the edge with him. Cold and hot spunk mixed between them, smeared into an adhesive as they shuddered to a stop.
Spike licked his lips, and the small wound on Riley’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he said. Bonelessly, he fell back on the bed. Riley was a heavy weight on top of him. They were still and silent together for a while. Spike cleared his throat. “This might become a problem,” he said.
Riley picked himself up on his elbows. His hair was hanging in his face, pupils were still blown wide. “Huh?”
“We have a problem,” Spike said. He gestured between them. “Like a drug problem that walks around and talks and might stake me. I don’t see this ending well.”
Riley nodded at the bed-sheet between his elbows. Then he looked up. “Maybe not,” he said. And then he leaned over and kissed Spike, firmly on the lips. “But I don’t know what I’d do with happy ever after, anyway.”
Spike stared in amazement after Riley as he got up and put his jeans back on. Something stirred in his chest and he laughed. “No, I wouldn’t either. Oh, we are fucked.”
Riley didn’t disagree, Spike noted, only smiled a little sadly and beat his hasty retreat.
“Truly, truly fucked.” Spike tried to care a bit. Instead, he made a mental note to find out where Riley lived and get an invite.
Holy cow, she did it again - have a Sequel!