I’m not sure where this one came from.  I’m sitting there, innocently
trying to outline the sequel to “Not Just Another Human” (which is Gavin’s
fault, by the way) when all of a sudden this idea is just there,
full-blown inside my head.  Spike tried to convince me to make it a part
of the sequel and I had a hell of a time keeping him away from Xander.  I
finally managed to make it a one-shot deal...for me, at least.  There’s a
bit of a challenge tacked on to the end of this, but nothing big.  This is
complete in itself, so the challenge is just for kicks.

K, I’m done rambling now.  On to the smut...er, fic.  Hell, I mean smut.
<eg>

Part One/One

Spike rolled his eyes as the fifth sigh in as many minutes drifted over
from Xander’s chair.  “Something bothering you?”  He didn’t want to ask,
but it was either that or listen to the whelp sigh some more and it was
beginning to get irritating.  He was sprawled across the couch in the
boy’s basement, waiting for the sun to go the hell down so he could leave.

“I can’t believe she left!”

Ah, so they were going to talk about Anya leaving.  Again.  “Of course she
left.  Who’d stay in Sunnyhell if they could bloody well help it?”  He lit
a cigarette and tried to find the remote.  Maybe he drown the other man
out with the television.

“Not Sunnydale.  I can’t believe she left *me*!  Things were going so
well...I was more than half in love with her and thought she felt the
same!”
  Xander looked up from his chair, eyes dark with confusion.  He’d been
going over the break up for the past two weeks, ever since Anya had kissed
him good-bye and left town, leaving the Hellmouth and Xander behind
forever.

“She must have been crazy,” Spike said in as bored a voice as he could
manage.  The damn remote was nowhere to be found, so he decided to amuse
himself at Xander’s expense.  Not like it was anything new, but it was a
way to pass the time.  “An exciting guy like you.”

“Hey!  I have a lot to offer.”

“Oh, yeah.  What woman could resist the chance to help you dust your
Babylon5 collector’s plates?”  Spike sniggered, his self-congratulation
over the barb rising as fast as the flush on Xander’s face.

“I’ll have you know that I have plenty to offer a woman.”  Xander held up
his hand and began to tick off his statements on his fingers.  “I finally
have a good job with a future.  I’m funny.  I am a pro at pretending to be
interested in girlie conversation about shoes and shopping.  I really care
about what a woman is feeling.  Usually.”  He narrowed his eyes and poked
his finger in the air towards Spike.  “And Anya even admitted that I was a
Viking in the sack.  How could she walk away from all that?”

Spike felt night descend like a cool balm over his nerves.  The sun had
set.
 
About damn time.  He stood up, not wanting to sit and play this old game.
He could understand some of the ex-demon’s interest in Xander.  The whelp
wasn’t bad looking and his new job was putting some nice muscle on him.
Those big please-hurt-me-now eyes were a definite plus, too.  But Anya
wasn’t a demon anymore so she couldn’t really hurt him, could she?  What
was the fun in having a toy that one couldn’t play with properly?  “I
don’t know, Xander.  What is it about you that makes it so very easy to
walk away from you?  Your parents did and never looked back.  Anya did it
without any effort.  Hell, your friends aren’t even keeping you around -
you just refuse to go away.”  He pulled on his duster.  “I guess that
you’re just not a very interesting game.  Play you once, than what’s the
point anymore - not even worth hanging on to for sentimental reasons.”  He
met Xander’s eyes, smirking at the tears he could see the whelp fighting
so hard to repress.  “Guess you’re just not worth a second go, so they
just walk away.”

Spike matched his actions to his words and left, not caring to see the
boy’s final reaction to what he’d said.  He had other matters to attend
to:  people to mug, demons to kill, alcohol to drink.

*****

Spike staggered a little, waiting for the door to stop jumping around
before he tried his luck at opening it.  The mugging had gone very well
indeed and he’d celebrated by getting roaring drunk.  He needed somewhere
to sleep it off and he wasn’t going to use his crypt in his current
condition.  Better to stay at the whelp’s and sleep it off in relative
safety from vengeance-seeking demons.

It took him a few tries to get inside but he managed it.  Uncaring of how
much noise he was making, Spike stomped across the floor and collapsed
onto the couch, ignoring Xander’s sleepy alarm and irritated protests.
Closing his eyes, he tuned the other man out and fell deeply into an
alcoholic sleep.

When he awoke, Spike was immediately grateful, as always, that vampires
didn’t get hangovers.  He tried to stretch his arms out and found that he
couldn’t:  they were restrained somehow.  That realization brought him
completely awake and he raised his head, wanting to find out what the hell
was going on.  He couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing:  his
wrists and ankles were encircled by manacles, and the chains connected to
them ran over the bed on which he lay and down to the floor.  They pulled
his arms and legs spread eagle, and a frantic wrench didn’t do any good.
Nothing budged.

Spike looked around and found that he was still in Xander’s basement.  The
whelp was standing beside the bed, staring down at him.  “What the hell is
going on here?” Spike demanded.

“You said I wasn’t a very interesting game to play,” the dark-haired man
said quietly.  “I don’t think that’s true.  Want to play a game, Spike?”
His gaze wandered down the length of Spike’s body then returned upwards to
meet his eyes.  “It’s called Taunt-the-Vampire.”

“I’m not interested in games,” Spike said.  What the hell was this?  He
remembered what he’d said to Xander before he’d left.  Was this some sort
of attempt at revenge?

“You will be.”  Xander shifted his feet and Spike could see the knife he
held in his hand.  Long and razor-edged, its deadly purpose was proclaimed
by its form.  Holding it in a surprisingly professional grip, Xander used
it to slice through Spike’s jeans, carefully avoiding the skin as he
parted the material.

“Hey!”  Spike yelled.  “What the fuck are you doing?”  Hearing himself
yell reminded him that Xander didn’t live alone.

Xander apparently read his realization in his eyes.  “Don’t bother.  They
went out of town for the weekend.  Old family tradition:  they go out to
my uncle’s place and drink themselves into a stupor there.  The change of
scenery spices things up, I guess.”  He returned his attention to slicing
Spike’s clothing apart.  The vampire was soon divested of everything, left
naked and exposed on top of the bed.  Xander put the knife down on the bed
beside Spike and then pulled off his own t-shirt.

Spike tried to figure out what sort of game Xander was playing at.  This
wasn’t the whelp he knew.  He looked longingly at the knife, so close and
yet so impossibly far.  He switched his attention to Xander and watched
disbelievingly as the other man stripped completely.  Xander had put on
muscle and it looked good, damn good.  Not good enough to make Spike
forget about the chains, though.  “What’s this, then?  You’ve finally
figured out the only way your ever going to be able to keep someone is by
chaining them down so they can’t run away?”

Xander shook his head as he leaned over Spike and shoved a couple of
pillows beneath his head so the vampire could look down the length of his
own body.  “It’s part of the game.”  He climbed onto the bed and knelt up
between Spike’s parted thighs, careful not to actually touch him.

“If this is going to take long, could you turn on the telly?  Just so I’ll
have something interesting to watch.”  No need to let the whelp know that
he was just a little intrigued, just a little effected by the heat he
could feel pouring off the naked flesh so close to his own.

“I think you’ll like this better than the television.”  Xander reached out
and picked up the knife.  Spike felt an instant of apprehension, but that
was obliterated by incredulity as he watched Xander deliberately drag the
blade across his skin in a straight line just below his collar bone.
Blood welled up thickly from the shallow wound in a line that grew fat and
darkly red beneath Spike’s gaze.  Still holding the knife, Xander reached
up with his other hand and trailed his finger through the thick liquid.
He smeared it down in a short line to the nipple below.  He gasped a
little as he rubbed his fingers over the nub, which peaked under the
attention.  Xander pulled at it roughly and his hips bucked involuntarily
as his cock began to harden.  He gathered up more blood and repeated the
action with the other nipple, head lolling back slightly as he aroused
himself through the wet touches.

Spike licked suddenly dry lips.  He could smell Xander’s blood, the scent
mixed in with the other man’s arousal.  He wanted to taste that blood,
rend Xander’s flesh until it gushed into his mouth so he could drink deep
and quell the thirst that was abruptly raging within him.  The scent of
Xander’s want effected him as well:  he also wanted to force the whelp
down on the bed and bury himself in that warm body again and again.  His
own erection began to fill as he was unable, unwilling, to look away from
the display before him.

Xander raised the knife once more and traced a thin line over the delicate
skin above his hip, then another across his thigh on the opposite leg.  In
doing the second cut he flicked the knife a little, causing a few drops of
blood to land on Spike’s leg.

They burned the vampire’s skin, the heat and the life within them calling
to him while he was unable to do anything but stare helplessly at them.
Panting, drawing in quick breaths unnecessarily but incapable of stopping,
Spike strained uselessly at his bonds, the need to touch Xander growing
within him.

As blood welled up from the two new cuts, Xander placed the knife on the
bed, then carefully caught the liquid in his cupped palms.  He moved his
bloody hands to his erection and began to stroke himself leisurely, hips
thrusting lazily as his cock slipped wetly through his encircling hands.

Spike groaned, his own hips mirroring the motion of Xander’s.  He wanted
to feel those hands on him, wanted to shove Xander on his back and lick
the blood from his skin then suck him until he came screaming in Spike’s
mouth.  He wanted to fuck Xander and at the same time drain him dry.  His
desire pushed him beyond his ability to control himself and he vamped out,
panting while in game face as he tugged uselessly at the chains.

Xander continued to pump himself with one hand while he picked up the
knife with the other.  He pulled the knife over his shoulder than dropped
it back down on the bed.  He coated his index finger in blood, then
reached around behind himself.  His eyes slipped closed and he groaned, a
sound of mixed need and satisfaction.

Spike echoed it with his own desperate moan as he realized what Xander was
doing - using his own blood as lubricant as his thrust his finger inside
of himself.  An inarticulate whine of need hitched out of his chest with
every panted breath.

As his strokes increased in speed, sounds of pleasure began to pour forth
from Xander, growing more frantic the faster he pumped himself.  He came
with a strangled cry, his seed spraying forth to coat his hand, the bed
sheets, and Spike’s belly.

Spike cried out as well, eyes fixed on the thick liquid, the denial of
which was killing him.  He had to have it, had to taste it intermixed with
Xander’s blood before taking the other man and fucking him senseless.  His
erection throbbing with frustrated need, he jerked mindlessly at the
chains, fighting them with all his strength but to no avail.  Movement
from Xander drew his attention back to the other man.

Xander raised one of his hands to his mouth and slowly licked his fingers
clean of blood and semen.  His eyes opened and he seemed to take in
Spike’s situation for the first time.  With a queer little smile he
removed all his fingers but the middle from his mouth.  Gaze locked on
Spike’s, he bit down hard on the tip, teeth tearing into his own flesh.
As the blood began to flow, he stretched out his arm and held the finger
over Spike’s needy flesh.
 
The blood welled into a drop which soon grew fat.  It clung to Xander’s
finger for a moment, then it fell.

Spike could feel it hit his erection, feel it slide thickly over the skin
of his cock, feel its burning heat and seductive life and it was enough.
He came with a scream, arching off the bed as far as he was able before
darkness filled his vision and he knew no more.

*****

Spike groaned as he woke up, feeling disoriented and oddly worn out.  The
memory of what had happened the last time he’d awakened forced him to full
awareness.  This time he was unbound, lying on Xander’s couch.  It could
have been a dream...but that didn’t explain why he felt like he’d just
gone ten rounds with a Fyarl demon.

It also didn’t explain why he was naked.

He sat up quickly and looked around the room.  Within seconds he had
spotted Xander:  the other man was in the kitchen, finishing up the
preparation of a sandwich.  He looked the same way he always did, as if
nothing unusual had happened earlier.

Xander looked up at him.  “Thought you’d never wake up.  I have to get
over to Giles’s:  prophecy, apocalypse, yadda yadda yadda, don’t forget to
bring a snack.”  He glanced at his watch.  “Sun should be down in an hour,
but you’re not expected at the meeting.”  He put the finishing touches on
the sandwich and shoved it into a paper bag.

“What the hell happened?” Spike demanded.  He spotted a pile of his
clothing on the floor and began to pull them on.  He never liked arguing
naked.

“What, earlier?”  Xander wiped off the counter.  “I thought I told you.
We were playing a game.”  He put a six-pack of soda on the counter beside
the bag.  “I thought you enjoyed yourself.”

“Damn right I did,” Spike admitted before he could stop himself.  He was
completely confused.  Xander was acting like nothing had happened, as if
he hadn’t chained Spike to a bed and made him come without ever really
touching him.  What fucked up alternative universe was this and how the
hell had Spike fallen into it.  A question bubbled out of him on its own:
“Can we play again?”

Xander stopped checking himself for his wallet and keys and raised an
eyebrow.  “I don’t know, Spike.  It’s like you said - people get tired of
playing with me pretty fast.  I wouldn’t want you getting bored with me.”

“Bored?” Spike echoed, still not quite sure what was happening.

“What am I thinking?  You were probably bored the whole time.  Look, I
appreciate you offering to play again, but I’m not going to accept
anyone’s pity, especially not yours.”

“It isn’t pity-”

“Don’t bother.  I don’t want to hear it.  You made yourself perfectly
clear last night:  I’m not worth playing with.”  His voice was level but
there was a strange mocking undercurrent to it.  Xander opened the door.
“I’ll be at the meeting.  Maybe we’ll let you know if the world’s going to
end.”  With a malicious little wave he was gone.

Spike was left alone and confused and frustrated and angry and suspecting
that the whelp had managed to get the better of him.

He began plotting his revenge.

*****

Where the hell did that come from?  Now that it’s out of my head, I can
move on to the next *real* fic - a crossover with Highlander with Wesley
and Xander as the main pairing.  (Sorry, Melissa - I swear X/S/Gr
yumminess with be next!  I promise!)

I have no intention of writing a sequel to this <listens to every other
victim of independent muses laugh hysterically>.  No, really, I don’t.  So
I’m issuing an invitation for someone else to do it.  I’d like to see what
someone else thinks Spike would come up with as his revenge.

I think this may be the first quasi-challenge I’ve ever issued.  Your
mission, should your muses choose to accept it, is to write a sequel
entitled “Taunt-the-Human” chronicling the tale of Spike’s revenge.  It
should include Spike inventing a game called Taunt-the-Human to play with
Xander, gratuitous smut, and Xander making a snide comment about Spike’s
cheekbones.  This fic writer will fall unconscious in thirty seconds.

Kay
(who wrote this snippet and a ten page essay on why the Book of Jonah is a
parody today and feels like a major badass)