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Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Length: 3866 words
Warnings: D/s, minor bloodplay, some ... er, bodily fluids
Summary: PWP
Disclaimer: Not our characters, we just bend then around and make them do our bidding.
Notes: Not beta read. If you find any mistakes or disjointed sentences, please let us know so we can correct them.





Power Plays


by
Lady Cat



It starts with eyes. Dark and silent, they watch him without words. Moments stolen in between meetings. Constant pressure while they patrol. And when it's just the two of them together ...

Spike is confused by it first. He understands Xander's dislike of himself; there's the whole vampire issue at hand. But it's not dislike Spike reads in those silently watching eyes. It's something that makes his belly tighten and think about times gone by, when he wasn't hampered by electronics. When he could ...

He gets used to it, eventually. Starts preening under the constant attention, his ego soaked through to bursting. Weeks have gone by, and Spike's lost the edge of constant aggression, worn down by constant reminders that he's got nothing to back his aggression. Well, not really. He's not as helpless as they think. He could probably exert a moderate amount of force before the chip kicks in, and that sends him to thinking.

Spike's dangerous when he thinks.

He knows what it is, now. Those dark eyes aren't hiding disdain the way he first thought. Disdain isn't maintained this long, not without it being something a lot more complicated than mere disdain. The eyes burn in his mind, as golden as Spike's can be, constantly watching even when the boy himself isn't there. Spike's stolen bits of clothes by now and keeps them by his bedside. Makes excuses to spend time with the boy, inhaling the scent of warm male, of wanting male, sweet and rich and salty-dark like good chocolate.

He doesn't know if he truly wants the boy to stop the teasing, or if he truly wants the boy. But he's unwilling to pursue that line of thought, concentrates on other things instead. Like how to get the boy to stop blooding teasing Spike, tormenting him with unrequited longing, wrapping him with mental blankets that hold more than just the promise of lust. Spike wants. And he's going to find out how to get. He's just not sure how.

"Gotta stop by my place before we go out, Spike," Xander mentions when they leave the Magic Box, on their way to patrol. "Think I want to take my new axe out for a spin."

There's nothing unusual in that, itself, but the tightness in Xander's voice and the unfathomable dark gaze that lasts a few seconds longer than usual make Spike wonder if something is up.

"An' you'll be wanting an escort," he drawls. The girls are rolling their eyes at them, annoyed at the constant banter that's never once faltered between them.

"Just go," Buffy instructs.

Spike gestures for Xander to precede him. He's watching the boy in return, now, and likes what he sees. Wants what he sees.

He falls into step beside Xander, waiting for the usual remarks to start, looking forward to flustering the boy or getting a few verbal jabs of his own in. But Xander is uncharacteristically silent. Tense.

Spike lets it go for maybe a block. "Get fired again?" he opens. He knows that's wrong, but the tacit jab is as good a starter as anything else. "Or, better, Anyanka's come back to make her worship known."

A low, husky, "no," is all Spike gets for his trouble. Spike wonders when that voice started sounding so bloody sexy.

Spike rolls his eyes to hide his shiver. He wants to hear Xander speak like that again, so his mouth opens. "No? Talkative little brat, aren't you. Gonna string me along some more?"

"No. No more stringing you along, Spike."

Spike is still trying to think of how to take that when he notices they're at Xander's place.

Xander opens the door to the building and stands inside, face shadowed enough to make him look like a predator for a change, instead of some 'please hurt me' prey. "Coming?"

Spike's body reacts with a twist and a throb. Oh, that's the stuff. Dark and with an edge of anger that makes his skin go goose-pimply. "Not yet," he murmurs as he follows the boy up to his apartment. "But workin' on it."

Inside his apartment, Xander heads straight to the refrigerator without looking at Spike. "Sit down, I'll get you a beer," he tosses over his shoulder.

"Thought you were getting' me an ax." But there's that low, dark quality sliding down from eyes to voice and Spike obeys.

"Now that I think about it," Xander says, still in the low voice that heads straight to Spike's groin, "the others probably have a handle on the slaying tonight. It's been pretty slow lately. And you and me need to ... catch up."

Spike turns on the sofa. The boy is shrouded in shadows, reinforcing the predatory look. It's intoxicatingly stunning. "Oh yeah? Gonna talk about old times, pet?"

Xander's walk back to the living room is like watching a big panther stalking through the jungle. Not at all what Spike is expecting, and he couldn't seem to look anywhere else. A blast of arousal hits him, delicious and dark.

"Not really," Xander replies, practically standing over Spike as he hands him a cold beer. "Thought we should talk about something else."

Spike takes the bottle, trailing his fingers along the long, golden neck of it. Up and down through droplets of chilled water, circling the mouth before sliding back to the base. "Got a topic?"

Xander narrows his eyes and takes a long pull of his beer before sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa. Facing Spike. Sprawling like he owns the world.

"When's the last time you had a taste of human blood, Spike?" Xander says. He's hard, there's no way to hide it in that position. "Must be difficult, going around, smelling it everywhere. Hearing hearts pounding all around you, blood rushing through veins, and you not able to do anything about it." The words would be cutting if they came with any other tone of voice, but the way Xander sounds out each syllable isn't cruel at all. He sounds almost understanding.

"Yeah?" It comes out as a croak. Spike hastily swallows some of the beer, reminding himself that vampires don't need to gasp. Not even when blood and sex are being dangled in front of their blood-and-sex-starved noses.

The sound of Xander's heartbeat, the rush-rush of blood as it fills his cock to bursting, is suddenly echoingly loud. Spike's entire body centers on it, wanting. Needing it.

"I'll bet you miss just taking what you want," Xander says slowly. He takes another long sip of his beer and looks thoughtful. "Did I ever tell you about the time I was possessed?"

"Possessed? What, the soldier-git from Hallow'een?"

Xander smiles -- almost ferally -- and shakes his head. "No, not that one. And that wasn't really a possession. I'm talking about the hyena thing." When Spike just lifts his eyebrows, Xander continues. "Hyena spirit possessed me. Not for long, but I still remember what it felt like, having it inside. Seeing something I wanted and taking it. Blood, sex -- didn't matter. If I saw it, I took it. I still remember that, Spike. I remember what it's like, having that and then suddenly ... not. Waiting around for things to go my way, like someone's gonna read my mind and just ... give it to me."

Spike is panting by now. He can track the responses now, feel the animalistic hierarchies at work. Xander is predator, a look and a carefully controlled slouch as loud as any trumpeting herald. And Spike is responding -- he slides down in his seat, ensuring he's below Xander's height. He's angled forward, just slightly, the barest supplication bending his neck.

It's instinctive. Normally, Spike hates this kind of thing. The way Angelus could control him with just a look, sending him skittering under booted heels. But now ... Spike rubs his thumb over the mouth of the bottle, deliberately.

"I'm not waiting around anymore, Spike," Xander says, promise clear in his words. "Been watching you, waiting for too long. I'm through with that."

Spike couldn't look away if he wanted to. One of Xander's hands absently scratches over his own belly, then slides down, thumb grazing over the bulge in his pants. He just rests his hand there, not squeezing or touching, more like framing his erection for Spike's benefit.

"I was going to get you here, make you tell me what you need. But I've changed my mind, Spike. I know, and I don't need to play any more games. I'm just going to give it to you. And you're going to give me what I want, aren't you?"

His own cock is so hard it pushes up against the buttons of the fly painfully. He wants to say 'yes'. Just yes, nothing else. But something in him makes him rasp, "Only if you take it."

Xander's grin is slow to come, but when it does it's blindingly sexual. Confident. The man licks his lips, sets his beer down carefully. Does a lazy stretch across the sofa to take Spike's bottle from his hand and slowly puts it away as well.

"That's the fun part, Spike," he says, deceptively casual.

Spike doesn't have time to blink before strong hands grip him by the arms and haul him up to stand, and then he's being propelled across the room faster than he thought a human could possibly move. He's shoved against a wall beside the bedroom door, and then Xander's mouth is on him.

The kiss is brutal. Lips press into his own, teeth scrape over his mouth. Xander is claiming him. His tongue spears into Spike's mouth, the issue of permission vanishing as Xander roughly takes everything he wants.

All Spike can do is moan, and let him.

Xander makes a noise that's like a growl when Spike moans, and rocks his body against Spike's, rubbing against him so hard it hurts. And then Xander pulls him away, pulls him from against the wall and pushes him into the bedroom. His eyes are nearly black with want as he pushes Spike's duster down over his shoulders and then tosses it to a chair in the corner.

"Take your boots off," Xander orders. "Strip."

Spike's obeying before he realizes it. The casual, unselfconscious control Xander is displaying is intoxicating. It makes him want to obey, craving the pleasure in submission.

"You were alpha," he says as he straightens, tugging his shirt slowly over his head. "Had a whole pack to do your bidding."

Xander cocks his head. "And out of the group, I was the one that particular spirit chose. Think that means anything?"

Xander's eyes gleam, never wavering as they watch him, raptor-focused on each of Spike's movements.

"Chose?" he purrs. "Or lucked into?" He wants more of this casual aggression. Wants Xander to take.

Xander smirks. "I think I told you to strip."

Two more buttons pop open. "I think I don't take orders."

Xander's eyes go hard and he steps forward. "I think you do," he says, soft and deadly.

An arm shoots out and knocks Spike off balance, so that he's sitting on the edge of the bed. Xander's hand grips Spike's neck, the fingers digging into his skin, tendrils and shocks of delicious pain shooting down to Spike's desperately hard erection. Xander stands over him, looking down.

Spike wriggles into the touch, making it hurt that much better. "This supposed to impress me?" he lies, the way his cock pops up from his open jeans proof that it has.

Xander's so tall this way. The forgotten few inches of height and breadth between them are magnified. Spike feels small, fragile -- and wants more.

The look on Xander's face is too knowing. "Not trying to impress you, Spike. Don't need to."

Spike forgets what he was supposed to be doing, just looks up into Xander's eyes -- dark, hungry, possessive gaze that seems to look right through him, straight to his core.

"Your boots, Spike," Xander reminds him.

A blink, and he's crouched on the floor, mindlessly untying dirty laces and yanking the boots off his feet.

Xander steps forward, kicks the boots away and stands over Spike once again. Grabs the hair at the back of Spike's head and gives a hard jerk, forcing Spike to look up. To bare his throat.

Jeans still half on, Spike drops his legs so he's kneeling. The supplication is only half-forced, but Spike doesn't think about that. He's too caught up with the burn of Xander yanking his hair, neck muscles pulled taut as he positions Spike.

"Take me out," Xander says, still in the soft voice that doesn't do a thing to hide his power.

Spike's cock jerks. His fingers purposefully fumble as he undoes Xander's pants slow click by click.

The hand in his hair loosens and then tightens again, and Spike swallows hard when Xander's cock springs free from his pants. No boxers tonight, nothing standing in the way of that proud, thick length.

"Lick it," Xander says, voice strained as he pulls Spike closer.

Spike pulls his lips back, looking up at Xander's face. "No."

Xander growls and tightens his grip, bringing a gasp of pain from Spike. Xander takes advantage of that open mouth and pushes inside, claiming Spike's mouth with his cock. "Suck it, then."

Hard and thick, hot and already wet at the tip, Spike tastes the head as much as he can. Delicious. Another yank and he moans, sucking lightly.

The smirk Xander gives him is calculating but his eyes are nearly black with want. "I know that's not the best you can do," he says in a low voice.

Spike smirks right back up at him. He can't speak, instead doing a trick involving the area that used to be foreskin -- bloody barbaric Americans -- and a hint of teeth. He wants to smirk when Xander hisses, gripping his hair even harder, eyes rolling back as his body goes taut.

He wants to smirk. He ends up moaning and doing it again, just so he can see.

Xander groans and fucks Spike's mouth, one slow thrust, and then two, and then he's pulling Spike up and practically throwing him on the bed, yanking his jeans off the rest of the way. His mouth, teeth, hands are everywhere, pulling and pinching and biting, like every inch of Spike's skin is his right.

It could almost be ritual. Spike spreads himself open, granting Xander the access he's taking. Panting, Spike closes his eyes and just lays there while Xander mauls him. Toys with him.

But Xander isn't going to let him get away with nonparticipation. He shoves two fingers into Spike's mouth, caressing the tongue. "Suck."

He wants to quip a 'yes, sir'. His mouth is open around Xander's fingers, ready for it -- when Xander glances up at him.

The fire in him sends Spike shivering the way Xander's busy hands don't. There's no need to makes quips on obedience; there isn't anything but. Xander rules him. Owns him, tonight.

His 'yes sir' is understood as Spike closes his lips and starts sucking on thick, work-roughened fingers.

He knows what is coming, makes sure Xander's fingers are good and wet by the time the man pulls his fingers out and then, then ...

Then he's being stretched, opened, and it's too thick to just be one, no, Xander's working those two fingers inside at once, and Spike throws his head back and cries out. It hurts, and it's glorious, and all he wants is more.

Spike whimpers and groans as two fingers become three. Xander's working him roughly, intent only to open him as much as Xander deems necessary because Spike's enjoyment, like his participation, is given.

Spike moans when the fingers are gone, and Xander's pulling away, kicking his shoes off, reaching over for the bottle of lotion on the nightstand and then slicking his cock. He doesn't even push his pants down, just grabs Spike's legs, hooks them over his shoulders, and pushes inside. Thrusts. Pulls out just a little and then thrusts again, until he buried all the way and Spike's on fire from the thickness and the heat.

And then Xander pauses. Looks down into Spike's face, eyes black as night. "Want you."

Spike's body jerks, cock throbbing. Two words and he's seconds from coming, writhing under Xander, needing, holding himself as open as he knows how. Forcing his eyes open, it's no act when he looks up through his lashes. The power in those eyes ...

"Please," he begs. "God, please."

And then Xander is fucking him, hands planted down on the bed, so much leverage, so much control, and he's fucking harder than Spike knew a human could, then shifting until he hits the sweet spot that makes Spike wail.

"Touch yourself, come with me," Xander tells him, deep and hoarse with restraint, still fucking, claiming, owning Spike completely.

For all the fury in his thrusts, the heat that burns into Spike's body, there's a distance between them. The instinctive knowledge that one is predator and one is prey. And when Xander's lips quirk into a half-smile worthy of Angelus ...

His hand closes around his own cock, blurring as he obeys. "Please," he begs again, the sound of his own whining voice as perfect as the way Xander fucks him. "Please, need it. Please, please."

Something primal flares in Xander's eyes. "Come for me, Spike," he says, then turns his head and bites into the leg on his shoulder. Bites hard, blunt teeth breaking skin.

Spike howls.

He whimpers when he finally stops coming, aftershocks leaving him twitching. Xander's still fucking him; he hasn't let up once. Spike focuses his eyes, shivering when he sees Xander's tiny, evil little half-smile, lips red with his blood. If he hadn't come so hard, that little smile would make him hard again.

As it is he gasps, producing another whimper as he pushes back against Xander.

"Fucking gorgeous," Xander says under his breath, giving one more thrust before he pulls out and comes all over Spike's belly and chest. Marking him. Scenting him like an animal. Like a demon.

Spike cries out again, cock trying to harden. His disappointment when Xander had pulled out is gone, vanished in a wave of renewed lust. Inside, the demon is growling, unable to resent the submission. Not when Xander's done everything right.

Come cools on his chest, droplets rolling over his skin. Careful not to disturb his bounty, Spike works his body downward enough that he can start licking Xander clean.

Xander murmurs his appreciation, runs fingers through Spike's now disarrayed hair. "Think you've earned a reward," he says, pulling away and fastening his pants.

He opens the nightstand, and something glints just for a second, and then the scent of blood fills the air, mixes with the thick sex-smell. And then Xander's offering his thumb, where the pad is sliced cleanly. One drop is slowly working its way down the man's palm.

Spike is instantly hard again. One hand goes to his stomach, rubbing against the drying fluid while the other lightly holds Xander's hand. He sucks at Xander's blood, licks his palm, moaning, mentally promising himself to Xander.

"Taste good?" Xander asks, only a bit strangled, fingers skating over Spike's cheekbone while Spike gently sucks.

He moans an affirmative sound. His free hand traces light patterns on Xander's palm and wrist.

The blood has stopped flowing, but Spike can't stop licking, can't stop sucking. It's like kissing, like he's worshipping. When Xander finally pulls his hand away, the look on his face shows Spike he knows.

For an instant, he wants to fight it. To prove he's the baddest of them all and won't submit to a twenty year old brat of a human boy.

But only for an instant.

He's Xander's, now, for as long as Xander has the strength to keep him. To signify that he rests both hands on the tacky come on his belly and looks a question.

"Rub it in," Xander says, voice soft but confident. "If you want it."

Spike doesn't move.

Xander swallows, face flushing just a bit. "It's your decision."

Spike allows his face to harden. "Gonna take me, then toss me away?" he sneers. "Some dominant you are."

Xander's eyes narrow, but Spike can see a glimmer of hurt behind the steel. "You aren't a thing, Spike. I thought I'd treat you like you actually had an ability to choose. I'm not interested in some unfeeling bottom who doesn't have a mind of his own. You choose to submit, Spike. I don't want someone I have to fight constantly, having to force to stay with me. You stay because you want this. Want me," he said, anger and hurt bleeding through the words. "The way I want you."

Gracefully, Spike rolls onto his knees, head down, arms behind his back. "Already chose," he said, keeping his voice soft. "You have me. Asking what I want now?" He shakes his head, hoping he can show his hurt at being asked. "Keep me."

Xander is silent for a moment, almost too long. Spike keeps his head lowered, trying to keep from shaking. And then Xander tugs him to his feet, pushes him to the bed again, and covers his mouth with his own. Soft. Gentle. But still managing to somehow claim Spike.

"Mine," he whispers. A statement. An endearment. "Mine."

The need to shake vanishes. Spike's body untenses completely as he moans and whimpers into the soft, claiming kisses.

Then Xander's hands are on his chest and belly, rubbing, smoothing, as the man continues to whisper, "mine," and he rubs his scent, his brand, into Spike's skin.

Spike arches into the caress, shameless as a cat seeking attention. "Yours," he promises.





The End





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