Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.


For CC.

"Come to pay me a visit at last?" Spike asked in a low voice.

Riley shifted from one foot to the other, hating the way his boots sank into the decadent layers of carpet and threw him subtly off balance. For a moment he didn't quite look at Spike, trying instead to find something to focus in the dim room--fireplace, pillows, sunken bath--but the vampire was a still, elegant shadow in the corner of his eye and at last Riley had to flick a glance his way. It was hard to look at him. Pain shouldn't make you beautiful.

"'S all right," Spike said, moving toward him at an unthreatening pace that nonetheless made Riley tense. His bare feet navigated the pillows, moving across them as if they were stones in a river, as if he didn't notice where he set his steps. Riley couldn't remember if he'd always moved like that, with his arms hanging loosely by his sides, two clappers outside the swaying bell of his hips, never quite touching. Not a bell, though. Not a woman's hips. "Thought I'd see you sooner or later." He reached Riley and stopped, and even his stopping was more deliberate than other people's. With a head tilt, he said, "Giles tell you to come?"

"Why the hell would he do that?" His own voice was a rasp, too flat for anger.

"He wants me gone from here. Pet project, trying to make me give up..." He hesitated, curled out his next words on a smile. " ignoble profession." One hand lifted and traced a fingertip down the line of Riley's jacket. It was connected to a slim twist of arm, and a swivel of shoulder, and a curve of neck. Riley's gaze traced that path hungrily while he hated himself. Naked from the waist up, Spike still wore decoration. One snaky armband. A jeweled choker that should have been too tight. Even the delineation of his chest and abs looked carved by someone who knew what he was doing.

But Riley couldn't see any scars.

"Would you like the full service?" Spike asked, tone smoothing on a dime to perfect politeness, so articulate and soft-spoken that it made Riley half-hard in an instant.

"I didn't come for--"

"Oh, let's not." Spike cut him short, stepped closer. He kept his gaze down in a deferential way, but he managed an authority that Riley couldn't answer. "You don't need to put yourself through all that."

"All, all what--" he stammered out, but Spike was easing his jacket off both shoulders, bowed head nearly brushing Riley's jaw, and Riley let him.

"I'll bet you've been real good, haven't you? Fine young soldier like you deserves a reward for loyalty, steady service. Bet they even set up a comp account. Privilege of rank. It's a well run house, you know--better than the enlisted house."

"Spike." He could barely form words under the gentle assault of Spike's fingers against the cloth of his shirt, tricking buttons open one by one. It should have been easy to evade that touch and to escape. He'd only come to tell Spike something, something about--

Spike dipped his head in and ran his tongue along Riley's left collarbone. Riley shuddered and lifted his head in a sharp gasp as he felt the last few buttons on his shirt come undone. "Relax, love." The vampire's voice was kind, an almost tender murmur. "You've got all night. We can take the edge off first, if you like." He pressed his grip between Riley's legs and then worked up a stiff handful of him, stroking just right through the material.

"Oh god--I just came to--" Riley began to feel a tremble in his thighs and braced himself, unable to meet Spike's eyes. He felt Spike's hand arrest, and swallowed a salty, miserable shame at the still understanding between their bodies. He clearly wasn't leaving, had locked himself in place with his hands on Spike's shoulders. After a moment his fingers flexed in a helpless spasm, a silent signal, and Spike sank immediately and obediently to his knees and brushed his cheek against the ache between Riley's legs, sharpening it to an even more rigid need.

There wasn't any point in pretending, but Riley tried to imagine that he was entitled to this, that he was just another grunt, demanding service from some soulless demon whore. A simpler equation, because the troops were safe and happy in their ignorance, their morale boosted by such perks, the bonds of brotherhood strengthened against the subjugated demon population. Spike had probably serviced hundreds of men by this time, and he'd done it willingly. He was worse than the demons they'd enslaved. He'd chosen it. Penance. Word was he nearly ran the brothel from the inside, kept the others in line, reported to the officer in charge. A collaborator.

It didn't help much, imagining himself innocent, reminding himself Spike wasn't. He was undone now, his pants open, leaving him naked and raw and visible. That part of him couldn't lie. The curve of cheek against his cock made him almost lose it, and beads of pre-come welled up to pearl at the head.

"Mmmm." A sound, not a word. Spike's lips parted and played him, tongue flickering up the side of his shaft, darting out and then withdrawn, replaced by kisses. It wasn't what Riley had expected, but it was what he needed, and he guided Spike with his hands, palming the back of his head and moving him where he wanted him, until the other man was sucking him in, busying his whole mouth against Riley's weeping flesh. Cheeks hollowing, tongue a wet curl underneath.

Riley could only look for a moment and then he had to close his eyes, because Spike's face was aroused and hungry. This is what they'd done to him, what Riley had helped do. He hadn't meant to, he'd just focused his attention elsewhere, let Spike take care of himself, hadn't listened when Buffy worried, and then she'd been gone, and he hadn't cared enough to intercede and put Spike under his protection, because it had swept them along so fast anyway, him as much as any of them, events snapping him along behind--and it had been all he could do to hold on. He hadn't had time to worry about the well-being of one vampire in the new world order, even a souled one.

"Oh god," he said, voice rising as Spike's hands slid up behind him, cupping him and drawing him deeper, thumbs kneading his flesh. And Spike was groaning, as if this was too good to bear, and it was too good to bear. Riley arched and sank himself with frantic movements of his hips, hot and wild and shamed, and then spilled with a cry.

And it was all exactly as it should be, if he'd been someone else.


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