Inked
by Meg and Amy

Series: Blow, Counterblow (yay, we have a series!)
Authors: Meg & Amy
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC17
Summary: Spike's possessive streak is showing. Sequel to "Amusement."
Feedback: Yes, please. Keeps Amy and Meg full of happy, smutty plot bunnies.

Meg: memmeier@insightbb.com
Amy: amyvamp@aol.com

Dedications: To everyone who gave us great feedback on "Amusement". If you only realized the chain of reaction your words have caused. We'll be writing this until Judgement Day. To Lee, our cohort in smutty thoughts, who we know appreciates our twisted minds…giddyup! (Evil Laughter!)
Disclaimer: As real life usually goes, we don't own 'em, we just play with 'em.

What does he think I am? Some kind of sodding rent-boy? 'Why don't you order us some pizza, Spike?' Over my lily-white, undead ass. Grumbling quietly, I toss the yellow pages on the kitchen counter with a thud.

(Don't. Bloody. Say it.)

Least I can do, right? Seeing as I don't have to dip into my own limited supply of dosh to pay for it. About the time I've managed to convince myself I'm not a complete poofter, I hear him laughing on the couch in the living room. Can't fathom what's so funny about some guy turning tricks to replace what amounts to a big box of water, but Xan's enraptured. Part of what I love about the wanker.

(Yeah, I said love. What of it? Don't look at me like that.)

I flip open the book, searching for the number to the only pizza joint in our little corner of hell that will actually make a pie with raw Italian sausage.

What's this now?

If the boy could read my mind, he'd be out the door so fast…

This is bloody perfect! Whelp thinks I've forgotten about the git that hit on him last week during that nightmare at the amusement park. He couldn't be more wrong. Just biding my time. I smile a wicked little smile and rip the entire page from the book, shoving it in my back pocket for later perusal.

(What? Still evil here!)

And Hank's the best fuckin' tattoo artist in the city. I'm sure he'd be more than willing to draw up a little something if I ring him. Humming snatches of an old Ramones tune, I pick up the phone to dial the pizza place. Xan won't know what hit him.

*****

God, this Deuce Bigalow is just the funniest thing. He's an idiot. I stretch on the couch scratching my stomach as Duece unrolls the largest spool of condoms I've ever seen. My snorts and laughter ring through the room. I can almost HEAR Spike rolling his eyes as he calls in the pizza.

"Raw sausage on half only, okay?" I yell.

"I'll give you a raw sausage, whelp!" He shouts back from the kitchen. Damnit! Why does he do that? Stupid, offhanded comment goes straight to my groin. Works better than any little blue pill Bob Dole may be pushing these days.

I hear him hang up the phone and he saunters back into the living room. (Yeah, I said saunters. Just because the other Scoobies think I'm the village idiot doesn't mean I am one. I just pulled the idiot card when I didn't want to do something. I use five-dollar words when needed and describing Spike's walk deserves it!) He runs his hands down across his bare chest and I swear I'm drooling. The way his jeans ride so low on his hips, top button undone. Shit on a stick, is my hormone meter stuck on high or what. Oh, well got at least 15 minutes before the pizza gets here.

I crawl off the couch toward him, watching as his eyebrow raises a notch. Then, I notice the look on his face. The one that screams "I-know-something-you-don't-know". To be perfectly honest, that look scares the erecting parts of my body right out the window.

"Spike? What are you up to?" I ask cautiously as I look up at him from the floor.

"Don't know what you're talking about, love." he whispers as he draws my head toward his jean clad erection.

I mouth the hardness through the rough fabric, my tongue working in circles up and around the length of him. I sit back on my haunches as he undoes his jeans freeing his weeping cock. I look into his eyes, nearly black with desire and want. I suddenly forget all the thoughts in my head. All I know is that I need him, to taste him…NOW!

*****

Jesus, every evil notion I ever had is slowly leaking outta my mind by way of my cock as the boy swallows me whole.

"Fuck, Xander!" I moan as I watch my pale length disappear into that heavenly mouth. Believe me, it is heavenly… as close to it as this 'ol bloke's gonna get, anyway. If he keeps at me like this, we may just forget that little stunt of his…you know, dragging me to that god-forsaken vampire hell known as the amusement park. As his dark head bobs up and down, his hot tongue laving my shaft expertly, I'm thinking I may have to ring Hank again and tell him not to worry about it. Hell's Bells, but he's blowing my mind and I feel my body coil and tense as delightful little tingles dance down my spine.

DING DONG.

"Ooooh, pizza!" Xander screeches, my erection slipping from the warm haven of his mouth with an audible pop. And before I even know what's happening, he's answered the fucking door leaving me here with my pole in my hand.

He's practically skipping when he comes back into the living room, already flipping the lid of the pizza box open. I clench my fists at my sides knowing that my cheek must be twitching furiously from gritting my teeth so hard. Gotta do something to keep from strangling the life out of him. He stares at me as he stuffs a piece of pie into his mouth, with this look of utter confusion that would be endearing if I weren't plotting his untimely demise.

"Wha?" he asks around a mouthful of food, still blissfully oblivious to my livid state. Fine. Wants to play it like that, Spikey can play. Green light on the evil scheme I had planned to forget. It takes longer than usual to button my trousers back up, my hands are shaking so violently with rage and need. Doesn't help any that he left me high and not so dry like that. Maybe I will ring Hank back after all; the art I requested is too bloody tame. Something absolutely disgusting…big, with lots of colors. Something he can never show anyone out of sheer embarrassment. The whelp needs to learn his lesson and I'm just the bloke to teach him.

I flash him one of those sugarcoated smiles he seems to be so fond of as I grab a slice out of my half of the pizza and retreat to the kitchen again, presumably to warm some blood.

Oh yes, revenge tastes so sweet.

*****

Ummm, pizza. Food of the gods and obviously a favorite of the undead. Speaking of undead, where'd my hunka burnin' (er, maybe not) vampire flesh disappear to? I hear him puttering around in the kitchen, probably making something plasma-related to totally destroy the taste of a good pie. In the time we've been together, I've gotten used to Spike's little delicacies. Still think they are completely gross, but ya know…for love, you deal. Yeah, I love him, even told him a few times as he pounded me into various surfaces around the house. And he's whispered it to me a couple of times when he thought I was already asleep. Wouldn't do to ruin his big bad image by confessing his undead love for me, but that's okay I know he does and that's good enough for me.

His look, on the other hand, as he comes from the kitchen with his mug o' blood is enough to make my throat close up and my heart skip a beat. He doesn't say a word either, just goes about his business. I know something's up. He arches an eyebrow at me and smiles. Ah shit, I'm gonna die.

"Hurry up and finish stuffing your gob, pet. We have somewhere to be." His voice is the epitome (ooh, ten-dollar word) of innocence. My death is upon me…I just know it. I cringe at the tremor in my voice.

"Where we going?"

He chuckles huskily and doesn't answer just takes his dishes to the kitchen and disappears into the bedroom to assumedly prepare for my impending doom. I don't like this, but follow him to the bedroom anyway so I can meet my fate head on. C'mon Harris, you've faced down a Hell God with only a minimal "quaking in my boots here" quality hanging around you. I can't help it though; when he looks at me like that I get a yellow streak down my back a mile wide.

He's wordless as we shower without the benefits of writhing flesh or mutual satisfaction. Spike hums a jaunty tune as he dresses and that alone is enough to make the terror truly set in. I gasp as I see him pull out weathered blue jeans and a blue button-up. He's not wearing the red and black. I'm a goner for sure. I try to find my voice so I can ask him if I'm really and truly gonna die, but the picture he paints in that outfit makes my mouth dry. Explaining a proven theory, even facing certain death, the human male still thinks with his dick.

*****

What the boy probably doesn't realize is that he's only sweetening the pot. Xander smells fucking amazing anytime, but freshly showered, quaking with fear Xan…that's something they ought to bottle and market. When I yank some of my "normal" (His word, not mine) clothes out of the dresser drawer I hear a tiny choked wheezing sound behind me, followed closely by the scent of fresh arousal and increased panic.

Even scared shitless he wants me. Good thing too, because there's no way in hell I could get him in a car with me right now otherwise. Especially since I have no intention of telling him where we're going. He's still standing there dripping on the carpet with a towel wrapped around his waist, jaw gaping open like a bloody large mouth bass. I cringe as a tiny shred of regret unfurls in my gut. The whelp looks like he's gonna pass out. Gotta do something to calm him down before he faints, because strong as I am I don't particularly care for lugging around dead weight…and there's no way Hank would do the art if I drag him in already unconscious, no matter how much he likes me. Can't help if he passes out in the chair, been known to happen.

"Xan…love." I tug a pair of jeans and one of his favorite obnoxious shirts out of the open drawer and toss them on the bed. He still doesn't register so I slink closer and nudge his mouth closed with the tip of my index finger.

"Calm down a bit, yeah? Not leading you to your death. Plan on keeping you around for awhile yet." His eyes finally focus, settling on my lips where I've plastered the most disarming grin I can muster right now. He gives me a weak smile and I shove the clothes I've picked out for him in his arms.

"Now get dressed."

*****

We're barreling through town in the DeSoto toward where I don't know. He won't tell me, but he promised me five…no six times that I'm not going to die so I try to disengage the white knuckled grip I've got on the door handle. That's a given reaction to Spike's driving. He knows he's headed for hell, but drives like he wants to get there just a little quicker. The tires squeal as he pulls a U-turn in the middle of the street and slams into the parallel parking space on the other side of the road. Happily giving the horn blasts and raised fists of the other drivers unfortunate enough to be behind him the bird and laughing maniacally the entire time.

From my position crouched in the front floorboard, I cautiously survey my surroundings. Pretty rundown part of town, but nothing indicating that life and limb are in jeopardy.

"C'mon, pet. Don't want to be late," he offers as he pulls me out of the passenger door and plants a quick kiss on my trembling lips. Doesn't relieve my apprehension one bit. He opens a nondescript door to a place the neon sign refers to as "Hank's". I start to breathe a sigh of relief thinking it's just another one of those dives he frequents. That is until he ushers me through said door and suddenly I'm feeling more than a little lightheaded.

Inside, floor to ceiling, the walls are plastered with colorful designs. Dragons, hearts, flames. Neat. The distinct sound of buzzing can be heard over the pounding beat of music drifting in the smoke-filled air…oh, holy fuck! I'm in a tattoo parlor.

"Um…Spike? This is a tattoo parlor."

"Not just tattoos, love. They do piercings and whatnot too," he remarks offhandedly as he strolls up to the counter. Well, didn't that just put all my fears at ease? Not only is there a possibility of being stuck by a needle, but I could also end up with a ring or bar stuck through some hole in my skin. I wipe the cold sweat from my brow as Spike yells "Hank, mate, you here?"

The next thing I see is a mountain of a man filling the doorway behind the counter. My vision's blurring dangerously at this point and I'm kinda hoping I forget this ever happened when I finally wake up. Hank…is this voluminous mass of flesh covered with any tattoo design you can think of, even on his face. Long, grayish hair pulled back in a ponytail and a ring in his nose that reminds me of those bulls you see on TV.

"Xander, meet Hank. Hank, your canvas." Spike says with a sardonic smile. I'm losing control of my bodily functions and just may piss my pants right here in front of God and everyone. I don't even realize that Spike has led me back into a fluorescent lit room with this evil chair contraption sitting in the middle of the floor waiting to devour me.

"Wha? Huh? Spike?" Yeah, so I've never been accused of having a sparkling wit, and even I know it's a bit ridiculous but trust me…it's the best I can do given the circumstances. Spike comes up within an inch of my face, pulling me tightly against his body. That delicious tongue appears and licks at my lips as he whispers.

"Surprise, Xan. Welcome to the world of lewd, screwed and tattooed." Oh my, why are all the lights going out?

*****

I'm ready for him as he tumbles forward into my arms. Knew it'd get to him, just thought the needle would be what sent him over the edge. Honestly, I think it's bloody ironic. Boy's got no pain threshold and here he is matched up with the likes of me. I drag him over and dump him unceremoniously into the chair.

With a chuckle, I turn back to Hank. "Don't mind him. Weak stomach and all."

He just nods and hands me a sample of the art I asked for. After a couple minor alterations and a brief discussion about sizing he ambles off into the back room to mix the inks and snag a fresh needle, leaving me alone with a very unconscious, very vulnerable Xander.

I sigh and brush a lock of dark curling hair from his eyes. I know he's gonna hate me for this…maybe more than a little. Probably ought to start working on a way to make it up to him because I'll damn well need it if I ever plan on gettin' shagged again. Time enough for that though. Wasn't kidding when I said Hank was the best tat artist in the city, didn't say anything about him being quick.

Laying a soft kiss on Xan's forehead, I lower my hands to loosen his belt. "Payback really is a bitch, pet," I whisper as I remove his shoes and socks before sliding his pants down over his hips. Sometimes I'd swear the boy's a vamp because even after being terrified and terrorized, and in the midst of a fainting spell he's still half-hard. And he's so fuckin' gorgeous splayed out like this, bare-assed and practically comatose; I can't help leaning forward to take a taste. His cock twitches in response to my tongue and I smile. Hank'll be back soon, and no matter what manner of shit he saw during his stint with the Hell's Angels, I don't fancy seeing his reaction to findin' me with my mouth wrapped 'round Xan's unmentionables.

I flip the boy onto his stomach and hunt for something to strap him down with because God knows he won't willingly stay put once he wakes up. In one of the drawers I find a couple of reasonably strong nylon straps with buckles. Don't know what Hank uses 'em for, probably don't want to know either. Satisfied they're sturdy enough to keep him down, I loop them through the chair and around Xander's biceps.

About that time Hank reappears in the doorway with a tray full of ink and his trusty needle.

"Where we doin' this?" he asks gruffly.

"I think he was sayin' somethin' 'bout his left ass cheek earlier."

Hank grunts. "Sounds good to me." He sets the tray down on the counter in front of the chair and then turns to me with a puzzled look. "What's with the straps?"

I just smile innocently at him, "Oh that? Xan tends to get a bit squirmy, if ya know what I mean." Tat artists aren't known for their blinding intellect, and Hank's still got this dumbstruck blank look on his face. "Likes the pain, that one," I say in explanation while he's transferring the art to Xander's skin. "Though with the racket he makes, you'd think different. Straps can keep him from wriggling, but you'll still have to listen that mouth of his. You want I should gag 'im?"

The smile he's giving me, I think he finally gets it and he shakes his head emphatically. "Nah. I like it when they whimper."

"Me too, mate. Me too." Xander's gonna hate me. "We ready then?"

The needle he's clutching in his meaty hand buzzes to life, and Hank grins. "Ready and willing."

*****

The stars are lovely. So are the little bumblebees. I don't see them, but I can hear them, their little wings buzz, buzz buzzing around me. Lovely little bees that just stung my ass!

FUCKIN' HELL.

Okay, reality hitting a little too harshly. Bright, seriously bright lights. Calm, Xander, calm. Let's analyze this. Face first into leather chair. Can't move. Bees still here and stinging the hell out of my backside. Then the two remaining brain cells that ARE conscious remember exactly where I was and who I was with…

"SPIKE!"

"Nice rest, Sunshine?" he says coolly as he stoops down from his position beside the chair.

I'm gonna kill him. Okay, he's technically dead so I'll have Willow do a spell and make him live so I can kill him. All the while, I'm sure if I could turn my head I would see the mountain known as Hank putting some I-don't-even-want-to-know picture Spike picked out on my ass. My hands clench as I see the bands surrounding them holding me down. I feel the blood rush to my face as my anger threatens to blow the top of my head off.

"Now, now. Calm down, Xan. Hank's almost done." He pats me on the head like a freakin' dog. I don't care how monumental he is in the sack, and trust me; monumental doesn't even begin to cover it. Spike in the sack is like a life supply of Twinkies. It just doesn't get any better.

Fuck, can my life get any more pathetic. I'm pissed off at the universe and the peroxide menace I happen to love. I'm strapped down to a leather chair face-first with the Harris moon a' shinin' for one and all to see. The largest and most decorated man on the planet has a needle in my ass and just a split second thinking of Spike doing the unbelievable things he does to me and I'm getting hard. Well, the leather does feel kinda good against my cock…what am I thinking?

"Spike, baby, love-muffin, please. Why are you doing this?" I even pull out the puppy dog eyes I know he can't handle. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Hank just snickers and keeps shooting my asscheek full of ink. Spike's face softens for a millisecond as he looks at me. C'mon puppy dog eyes, work your magic. Then, the Big Bad cool resolve is back firmly in place.

"Don't like other blokes looking at you, pet. Nobody touches what's mine."

My brain is spinning. What other men? Shit, the ride attendant at the fucking park. Knew that hit him a little deeper than he let on. Spike tends to be a bit over possessive, at least with me. I found that trait endearing, until I ended up on the wrong end of this branding needle.

"No…no touching. I didn't, he didn't touch. Spike, he just looked at me. That's all. I'm yours. I'm so totally yours." I'm babbling now and you know what, I don't care. Anything I have to do to get out of this chair, even blow him in front of the walking, talking, painted Sumo wrestler that's inking my ass.

He lovingly runs his thumb down my face and across my lips. I stare at him, silently pleading for him to get me out of this mess.

"I know you are, love. But this way, you know I mean forever."

"Couldn't we just get matching T-shirts?"

*****

Don't think Xan gets it yet. Aside from being the ideal sort of revenge, this turned into a labor of love somewhere along the line.

(Yes, I said it again. Wipe that sodding smirk off your face, mate, or I'll find a way to wipe it off for you.)

Any demon in Sunnyhell worth its salt knows better than to lay a hand on my boy. Not only is he literally covered in my scent, but we're also affectionate enough in public that any of 'em with half a brain would know we're shagging. Even the ones that don't respect vamps or their culture know better than to screw with someone I've so obviously claimed. I can still hurt them, you see.

Humans are a different story altogether. Thick as bleedin' bunker walls, the lot of 'em. There was this tosser at the Bronze who walked right up to the fuckin' table and propositioned him in front of me! Let's just say I had a few choice words for the guy and ended up causing a bit of a scene. Xan and I made a slightly hasty exit that night, after which I pounded him into every horizontal surface he owns. Did the whelp shrink my pants last time he did the wash?

This marks him as mine. More than any bloody ring or piece of paper would. Doubt Xander will feel that way the first time some bloke comes up to him and I bare that luscious ass of his to prove a point. Got me a secret weapon though, which I'm sure he'll appreciate as soon as we get home. I wiggle my tongue a bit and feel metal scraping at the sensitive spots where my canines retract. Hell, if he doesn't appreciate it, I sure as fuck do.

Hank nudges my arm as he wipes up the last bit of ink and blood. "How's that?" He moves the gauze aside and for the first time I get to see the full extent of his handiwork. Did I say that Hank's the best tat artist in the city? Forgive me, I should've said the Western Hemisphere, because it's perfect. The shading and definition…I tell him as much and start pointing out the little details that bring it all together when Xander's voice interrupts me.

"Spike…" He sounds so utterly defeated; I can't help but feel a little bad for him. I lean down again so we're at eye-level and treat him with another of my honeyed smiles.

"Yeah, love?"

"Can I at least see what you've done to me?" The puppy dog eyes have long been replaced with a slow-burning rage.

"'Course you can." Hank's off in the other room cleaning up, so I shout to him through the beaded curtain. "Oi, mate…you gotta a couple of mirrors hanging about?"

"Second drawer down on the left," he yells back. I sift through the contents for a minute before finding two hand mirrors, the kind most birds use to fix their make-up.

"Ready, Xan?"

"As I'll ever be," he grumbles and I try to set the mirrors the right way so he can see his new body art.

Guess I got the angle, 'cause now he's thumping his head against the chair. Don't see what all the bloody fuss is about, it's quite tasteful really. Not so different from what you see on a thousand other wankers out there on a daily basis. Just had Hank alter it a bit. Instead of a rose or some sodding knife, I asked for a railroad spike driven through a plump, juicy, albeit non-representative heart. There's a bit of blood dripping from the end where it's pierced the thing, and it's got a banner running across it with my name in heavy black letters.

"So, pet? What's the verdict?"

*****

I have Spike's name…on my ass. You know, I think the pounding is helping…then again, maybe it's just rattling those two remaining brain cells around enough to make sparks.

Deep breath. I can do this, right? Without slaughtering Blondie in his sleep?

Who the hell am I kidding?

I HAVE SPIKE'S NAME ON MY ASS!!!

A soft puff of air flutters against my back and once I manage to screw my head around far enough I see my currently undead soon to be dead-dead boyfriend kneeling next to the chair. But then he runs his hands over the raised, reddened skin almost reverently, his fingertips doing a dance that threatens to tumble me back into Woody-land as he traces his name and then outlines the heart. And the expression on his face…

As mind-bending a concept as it is, Big Bad looks downright touched.

Spike loves me. I mean, I knew that, but if I ever wanted proof here it is in black and white. (Red too, but who's counting.) I've never really belonged to someone before. All kidding aside, Wills is the only person that's ever been dumb enough to claim me with any consistency, and back then we were outcasts together. Things kinda changed when I became basement boy and she went on to the big lesbian Wicca-palooza.

Even if it means I'm some kind of nut, I'm not gonna deny how fucking fantastic it feels to have the Spike seal of approval. Okay, so no one is going to actually see it without vehement argument from me, but he and I know it's there. And I'm his, forever. Funny…the thought of giving forever to a neutered vampire that looks like Billy Idol and drives like he oughta race stock cars should scare me, but it doesn't.

"Spike?" I see his body tense, like he's waiting for the ax to fall, and I flash him a small smile, so he knows I still love him. The tendon twitching in his jaw settles a bit, and I swear I can see moisture clinging to those thick, girlish eyelashes of his.

Okay, so maybe I'm too forgiving, but he didn't raise holy hell when I ruined his Docs and he has every right to. And while sending me under the needle unconscious is by no means the same thing, I probably like the result a lot more than he appreciated stewing in my vomit.

"Much as I like the whole bondage thing, I'd really like to put my pants back on now if you don't mind." He's gentle when he unbuckles the straps and damnit if he doesn't look like the most relieved guy in this or any other dimension. His eyes are doing that crinkly thing again. I hate that. Makes it impossible to hold on to even a little bit of what was once considerable fury.

He helps me stand and thank God Hank is still in the other room because other parts of my body are stating pretty obviously that Spike's deranged claiming of me makes said body parts very, very happy. Does it ever go soft? I mean, Christ on the cross, I have no control over it.

It doesn't help that Spike is standing in the middle of a somewhat public room fondling me. The strangest thing is, I don't give a fuck. He nuzzles my neck, biting softly with blunt teeth. Okay, liking this maybe a little too much.

"Let's go home, pet. Got a surprise for you."

And with that, I'm pulling on my clothes with lightening speed. The burn from the fresh tattoo just adds fuel to the fire. Spike vanishes for a couple minutes, I'm guessing to find Hank and thank him for the job. My hands are shaking in my haste to get dressed and home.

Owww! Fuck, zipper!

Things like that wouldn't happen if I didn't go around with a virtual tent pole in my pants most of the time. Spike reappears and the desire in his eyes has us sprinting like Gold-Medal Olympians in the general direction of the DeSoto. Once nestled safely inside the black beast, I attack him. Palming his erection through his jeans, licking the side of his throat. God, I don't know if we'll even make it home. I need him that bad. I'm not sure how it happened, but we're pulling into the underground parking garage at the apartment complex. Too busy molesting my vampire to notice I guess. Before the car even comes to a complete stop, we're out the doors and grabbing at each other's clothes...

The sweet old lady in 3B opens the door as we slam into the wall at the top of the stairs. Once she spies the clothes littering the hallway and our various states of undress, she smiles and retreats into her apartment, shaking her head. The tenants in our building are so used to our somewhat X-rated public displays of affection that they don't even raise an eyebrow anymore. Although I don't think the landlord took too kindly to us having sex on his desk. Oh well, can't please everyone. I have a strange feeling that there will be some pleasing going on tonight, though. And call me crazy, but I don't really give a flying fig what the landlord thinks at the moment. The only semi-coherent things coming out of my brain right now are: "Spike. Naked. Spike. Suck. Spike. Fuck."

Already stripped to the waist, we tumble inside the apartment, ripping and tearing at each other's clothes like there's some kind of lottery pot that goes to whoever gets stripped first. He hasn't kissed me yet. Well, not on the mouth. That's a little strange, Spike loves to kiss. And I love to kiss Spike. That cool tongue pressing firmly against mine, twisting and battling for ownership of my mouth. I push the thought out of my head as my pants hit the floor. Somehow, during the brief distress over absent kisses, Spike got completely naked, and no matter how much I love Spike-kissage, this is definitely better. I mean, have you seen him?

He's all muscle and compact. I can't help but shiver as I look at him, especially certain parts of him. I stare at the length of silken, ivory perfection jutting from his groin. Drooling now. I drop to my knees and swallow him whole.

He struggles to remain upright as I lick him head to root like an all-day lollipop. Hands tangle in my hair as his moans echo off the living room wall. God, I love the taste of him. Musky, salty, cool. Magically delicious and better than any leprechaun sponsored marshmallowy goodness. I take him deep into my throat and swallow, a very worthwhile trick I learned from him. His toes curl into the carpet as he fights to regain control.

A feral growl reverberates through the room and before I can even get my bearings, I'm facedown on the floor sucking Berber fibers up my nose. There's a slender hand on my back holding me down. Spike it seems is skipping all forms of foreplay and getting right to the fucking. My boy, love his lack of patience sometimes.

His mouth covers the brand on my skin, wetting it with his saliva. The burn in my flesh all but disappears as he cleans it. Really should market that stuff, vampire spit beats Curel six ways from Sunday.

His hands grip my buttocks pulling them apart, and I'm panting in anticipation. An unmanly yelp pierces the darkness as his mouth closes around my hole, and he swirls his tongue in slow circles in and out.

What is that?

I'm a little confused, well not about what Spike's doing but about the…thing I feel. Then, I remember his little comment about a surprise and brainiac that I am I figure I'm about to get it.

"Spike? What's in your mouth?"

"Your ass."

"Very funny, smartass. There's something other than vampire tongue down there, I can feel it."

"Oh, you mean this?"

I crane my neck to look at him and I have to grip the base of my cock with my fist so I don't lose my load. Sometime during our little adventure out this evening, Spike has gotten his tongue pierced. I stare in fascination at the silver bar as he flicks his tongue back and forth over his teeth. I gulp a big breath of air and whisper, "Surprise?"

The chuckle of evil laughter fills my ears as he dives face first between the globes of my ass. That wicked tongue dancing feverishly against my opening.

"Oh, God!" I keen as I feel him breach me, stabbing his tongue inside. Whatever anger I felt for him is so gone, leaving only this searing sinful pleasure. I feel the cool metal of his tongue piercing fucking me languidly. Involuntarily, I push back toward him. My body's working on auto-pilot as the shivers crawl up my spine. I feel that beautiful fire swelling from my groin and the numbness shoots straight to my brain. I never thought I could cum from just this. His hands aren't anywhere near my cock, but it's throbbing with an impending explosion. My body tenses and…he stopped. Wha? Huh? He STOPPED…NOW?

"Easy, pet." He whispers as his body covers me. In one swift motion, Spike enters me fully and we both gasp at the intense feeling. Both of us have been on the edge since our little venture began and I for one think it's high time to topple over it. I crawl up to all fours and forcefully push back against his thrusts until we're slamming together. Hate to put this as a simpleton, but anger…gone. Needles…so worth it. Fucking…great! He grabs my shaft in his hand and jerks feverishly. All the pent up anxiety of the evening, shoots from me and covers the floor as I feel his body arch. Spike howls, (Yep, I did that to him. Grin) as he collapses on my back. We sink to the floor still intimately connected.

My eyes are heavy as we lay in a sated heap on the floor. I turn around to cradle him to me, resting his platinum head in the crook of my arm. Spike smiles at me softly as his eyes close. He's so peaceful and youthful looking when he sleeps. As I caress the sharp planes of his cheek, the only thought that comes to mind is…revenge is so sweet.

previously in Blow, Counterblow | next in Blow, Counterblow | back to fic index