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Chiaroscuro	By : winterlive Category: > Spike(William)/Xander > Spike(William)/Xander Views: 1952 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Finally.
Xander stepped back, let his hand fall to his side, still holding the paintbrush. He was buzzing with the thrill of painting, of the man on the table, so smooth and beautiful. Two years of waiting, of searching for just the right one, finally over. He felt drained, but as he looked over the canvas, a bone-deep satisfaction spread through him, and he knew. It was worth it. It was right. Relief flooded through him, too, and he nearly had to sit down. Instead, he settled for cleaning the paintbrush and setting it into its jar. Done, finally done, finally over. He moved out from behind the easel, leaving it behind with a vague sense of regret.
Then his eyes dragged toward the stand where Spike lay against the wood, and regret evaporated. The amber light swirled around Spike's body, lighting his pale skin and making his hair shine like firelight through champagne. Struck for a moment by how beautiful he really was, Xander had to stop and stare. He walked toward Spike, slow and hesitant, feeling like he was trying to move through water. Sound was muffled, every bit of his attention focused on the stunning creature spread before him.
Spike lay against the block of wood, hushed and barely breathing. Xander noticed the muscles in his thighs shake as he held himself still on the wood and shook his head.
Quiet but reproving, Xander said, "I told you to tell me if you got tired."
Spike lifted his head to look at him, and Xander saw wet tracks down his cheeks, gold in the soft light. The blue shone, misery that had been carefully held back in the painting pouring out. Xander�s heart leapt in his chest.
His hands were reaching out before he could stop them, and he took Spike by the wrist and pulled him upright. Xander sat on the edge of the table and dragged Spike into his arms, holding him closely. Spike didn�t make a sound, didn�t protest or cry out - but his hands twisted in Xander�s shirt and held tight, and he buried his face in Xander�s shoulder. Xander rocked him back and forth, feeling the incredible tension in his shoulders and back as he stroked one hand up and down the smooth skin.
He didn�t dare speak, only thought the words in his head. I owe you so much. Tell me what to do. Tell me what I can do; I want to make it not hurt. You showed this to me, and I�ll never forget it. Just tell me...
Tentatively, like cautious birds, Spike�s hands unclenched and began to move on his back. Barely there, they traced up and down over Xander�s spine, and Xander shivered involuntarily, feeling feverish despite the air-conditioned studio. Spike pulled back then, gently, not very far but enough to get a little space between them. One of his hands came carefully around to trace up and down Xander�s chest, tickling the hairs there. Xander began to breathe heavily, feeling the light touch skim over his skin.
Spike ducked his head shyly, still tracing Xander�s chest. When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper.
"I did well, then?"
"Oh, man." Xander was shocked that he didn�t know, and petted the sharp blond hair in reassurance. "Yeah, you did good. If I said the word �perfect� a thousand times, you might be starting to get the picture, okay? You did very, very, very good." Spike smiled shyly, and the sight of it ricocheted through Xander like speed, some part of his mind shrieking want want want want at him over and over. He stroked his fingers at the nape of Spike�s neck, soothing, reassuring.
"So," Xander began, unsure really of how to say this, but determined to get it out, "you said you wanted something. Before we started, I mean."
Spike�s eyes shot up to meet his, something like hope in them, but mixed with a strange dread as well. "Yeah," he murmured, dragging the word out hesitantly. "Suppose I did. But, uh� �s a little� s� other than you�d expect, I�d wager. I mean, I got your painting done up and all, but�" He squirmed in Xander�s arms, seeming to try to get closer and further at once. He looked at the floor, the fingers of one hand wrapped around Xander�s arm, holding on tight.
"Tell me," Xander coaxed, petting down the smooth back, silky skin skimming under his fingers. Spike twisted under Xander�s gaze, trying to avoid it without leaving Xander's arms - impossible.
"Well, you know� what I do," he said, tripping over the phrase.
"Yeah," Xander said, his voice low. Spike meant the slaving.
"It�s something I need, like. Something important?" The tone swung upward in a question, and Spike�s eyes lifted, checking to see that Xander understood. Xander nodded gravely � yes, that�s all right, I get it, go on.
Spike swallowed, nodded. Then he continued, voice hesitant and wary and even a little frightened. "Never knew any of them. Masters. They never knew who I was, not really. Name, maybe. But that�s all. And you know� more, so I wouldn�t ever ask you, but it�s important, yet, and I can�t just ignore..."
He began to stutter, to fumble the words, fight to get them out. He was blushing and fidgeting under Xander�s steady gaze, trying to say something that was obviously near painful to say, and Xander�s mind raced ahead of Spike�s words, piecing it together. I don�t get it. I don�t know anything about him besides his name, and that he�s a slave. Then Xander remembered the painting, sitting in the darkened studio. Well, I know that, too. I know that he feels, that strongly. As strong as I needed him to show� and he did show me that. And now he�s asking for�

"And I thought tonight when you came in that� that you�d� I mean, I know I�ve no right to ask, but I just thought maybe� maybe you could�" He was brimming with shame, blush staining his cheeks cherry red. He turned his face away.
"You want to do what you came here to do." Xander whispered.
Spike turned redder and nodded his head miserably. "I shouldn�t� I don�t�" He trailed off and tried again. "You�re not�"
"Shh," Xander said abruptly. "Quiet. Let me think." Spike went silent and still, head bowed.
Thoughts raced through Xander's head. Of course he�s afraid. Why wouldn�t he be afraid when he�s going to show me more of who he is than most people ever get to see? Jesus. If it were me� Xander stopped that thought before it could get any farther, feeling the panic rise in the back of his brain.
Xander ran a hand through his hair, shook that off, and faced the one unalterable fact about this whole thing. If he wants this, I�ll do it. I mean, I can at least try. I owe him that.
But what if I screw it up? I've never done anything that even sounds like this before. He wants... Giles told me some stuff, but we thought he'd just go with it, just get on the damn table and sit for the painting and go with it...
But then Xander heard Giles's soft, smooth voice in his head, saying You know, Xander, it may not be quite as simple as you imagine. There are a lot of intense emotions involved in the Master/slave relationship, and whomever you choose may not be very amicable to the idea. He may be hurt, or worse. It's not about the money. He'd sounded quiet and sincere, like he'd known what he was talking about, but Xander hadn't listened.

Okay. I thought he'd just take the money and go. Giles tried to warn me that this was a bad idea, and I ignored him. Fine. That's fair. But now that I've got him here...
Xander looked at Spike, fair head bent, naked and shivering in his arms. He was warm, shamed but still wanting, still needing what he'd asked for. His cock jutted up from his lap, swaying and red with desperation. It wept with need.
Xander felt the flush intensify in his cheeks as he stared at Spike's cock. He licked his lips, barely even aware of it. He wanted to know what it tasted like, what it would feel like between his lips. He wanted.
"Fuck it," Xander burst out, and Spike's head shot up to look at him, eyes wide. "We both need this, so I guess I'll just muddle through."
Spike shuddered and his eyes closed for a moment with relief, but they didn't stay closed as Xander's fingers found his cock. Spike breathed in harshly as his eyes widened, eyes locked to Xander�s hand. Xander could hardly hear him, could only feel the slick skin under his fingers, burning hot and so soft. Spike was uncircumcised, unlike Xander himself, and the feeling was utterly foreign. Xander curled his fingers around Spike's erection, feeling the throb of Spike's heartbeat in his palm. He pulled, felt the foreskin move with him, and leaned down, head moving toward Spike's cock slowly.

Spike's breathing got heavier and heavier, and when Xander finally realized where he was, he was about an inch from the head of Spike's cock. He could smell the rich scent coming from Spike, wanted in, wanted to taste and feel - but he was also becoming uncomfortably aware that they were sitting on the edge of his studio table, and there was all sorts of twisting around involved here that was not in the brochure. Bed. Bed now.
He lifted his head quickly and looked at Spike, who looked back at him, breathing still harsh, eyes full of need. Xander tried to remember what Giles had taught him, tried to edit his words so they'd work.
He made his voice strong, commanding. Spike needed it, and Xander was determined to give him whatever he needed. Anything. "Get off the table," he ordered. Spike immediately complied, face flushing, but a small, relieved smile playing around his lips. As he stared at the floor, Xander could see his eyes, soft and maybe even a little happy. That heady sense of power spiraled through him again tingling through his legs and back.
"Good. Now, we're going to my bedroom. If you aren't allowed to do anything I tell you to, you have to tell me immediately. Understand?"
Spike nodded, once, and then lowered his eyes. Power thrilled through Xander's fingers, and they curled, wanting to reach out and touch.
"Good. Follow me."
Xander clenched his fists, turned on his heel and walked out of the studio. He could hear Spike following behind, feet thudding quietly against the hardwood in the hall, the Berber in the living room, the hardwood again on the way to the bedroom. A hundred voices clamored in his head, but the sense of power, weirdly, was the thing that shut them all up - like a devil over one shoulder, shouting down the angel and the conscience and anything that argued.
Doing this, it angrily insisted, end of story. Want Spike. Have Spike. News at eleven.
It seemed to take twenty years to get to the bedroom. Xander was hot all over, burning up. He stared at the wall, not wanting to look at the man behind him, or it�d all be over too soon. He worried for a moment about what to say next, and then knew. He�d said it before.
"Get on the bed."
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Chiaroscuro