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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
There was a moment of stillness, and then the soft slaps of Spike's pale feet on the floor. Xander stared at the wall, at one of his paintings hung there. He'd done it right after having read Dante's Inferno, and it was full of red fire and suffering, the levels of hell clearly articulated. Behind him, the bed springs squeaked as Spike climbed on, and the sound prickled down Xander's spine. His eyes sought out one of the tiny replicas of himself, being tormented in the second level - lust. Then came the soft British accent, flowing low around him, sliding into his soul, into his cock, brushing him like light fingers.
"How do you want me?"
Oh, God�
"Lie down, face up. Spread your legs, arms above your head." Miraculously, his voice didn't waver. There was rustling behind him, the rustling of the covers as Spike slid over them, arranging himself as Xander had ordered. He could almost see it in his mind's eye as he stood, back to the bed - Spike splayed out, spread open, waiting for him. A low heat uncurled deep in his belly.
Images from earlier in the night flashed through his mind - Spike on his knees in the hall; Spike's head turning under Xander's hand; the little moan he made when he was turned on; the tiny bead of glinting silver that had rolled down his cock when he'd stood naked in the studio.
Xander turned to look at the bed, hard-on raging and arousal singing through him. Spike lay exactly as Xander had pictured, legs spread wide and hands above his head, toes and fingers gently curved and cock shivering. He was a picture, pale skin against Xander's own burgundy-black bedspread. The irony did not escape Xander, Spike splayed thus on a bed so like the one in the painting, and he immediately locked away the part of his brain that asked too many stupid questions. Spike. Bed. These are the only important facts.
Xander approached the bed cautiously, debating how to proceed. He wanted to enjoy this, to do everything rolling around in his head, but he wouldn't last five seconds as it was, so he'd have to take the edge off. But how to do that? And how to make sure he'd be dominant enough to satisfy Spike as well? He thought about that for a moment, struggling with the mindset.
He'd never really been all aggressive with sex. It was mostly a take-it-as-it-comes kind of thing, trying to get two sets of rocks off as best he could, the other person setting the tone. Being In-Control Guy� it was different, sure, but had him harder than he'd been in years; so, hey, not hating it. Xander tried to think of it, to see it like he'd see a painting when he was first conceiving it, picturing a blank canvas in his head and filling it with color and shape. What do I want to make? he thought to himself. What will evoke the feeling in me that I want?
The answer to that came quickly, the image filling his mind, a hot rush hard on its heels.
"Take your dick in your hand," he ordered Spike, "and hold it straight up." Spike complied with grace, curling his long fingers around his cock and pointing it to the ceiling. Xander noticed that Spike's head was propped up on the pillows, so he could see everything. Good. "Watch me. I want you to see." Spike nodded, holding himself rigid, eyes a little wild.
Slowly, Xander sat down at the side of the bed, watching Spike roll slightly toward him as the mattress gave under his weight. The thick cock seemed to push toward him as well, begging for attention. "Hold it tight," Xander whispered, then leaned down and took the head of Spike's cock in his mouth.
It was warm against his tongue, and not anywhere near as salty or bitter as he'd thought it would be, but slippery and kind of earthy. Spike gasped softly above him, and that more than anything else made Xander's cock throb, push against the clothes he wore. He wanted to hear that sound more. Louder.
He ran his tongue across the soft skin, tasted the slick fluid that had gathered there. Spike drew shuddering breaths, and Xander swirled his tongue around, tasting as much of Spike as he could. He felt Spike's hand tighten, felt a small tremor in the grip, and realized that he wasn't the only one who needed to take the edge off.
He pulled off Spike, sucking the tip as he did, Spike's breathing now fast and erratic. Xander trailed careful fingers over the blond's smooth chest and flicked a glance up at him, saw a tiny bit of sweat glisten at his temples. "How long will you last if I keep doing that?"
"N-n-not-not long�" His pulse raced under Xander's hand.
"I figured," Xander nodded. "I want you to last, Spike. I want you hard when I take you, and I want you to come when I do," - Spike looked terrified - "but if I take you like this, it'll all be over way too fast, am I right?" The fear receded in Spike's face as he swallowed and nodded, and Xander stroked him gently, feeling the taut skin under his palm.
"So, here's what's gonna happen. Stand up, over here." Xander gestured to the spot beside him, and Spike swung his legs around. Xander noticed that Spike maintained a careful grip on his cock, holding it straight as Xander had ordered, and he was a little surprised at that, but decided to let Spike keep doing it anyway, because it was unbelievably hot, and also oddly reassuring. Xander's skin tingled, the flush rising on his cheeks and neck.
"There's some� lubricant in the bathroom. Top drawer, right side. Go get it and bring it back here."
Spike hesitated again, just a split second. Then he turned and walked into the bathroom.
The worry crashed over Xander like a wave. Too hesitant! I suck. I'm the nervous, twisty, fidgety kind of master that couldn't keep a Slave to save his life, let alone do justice for Spike, who's, like, the king of all Slaves. He's probably in there right now, figuring out how to back out of� this� gracefully� Guh.
Thought exited Xander's head as Spike walked out of the bathroom. The pale blond still held his cock loosely wrapped in one hand, and the rise and fall of his stride pushed the thick length through his fingers. In the other hand, Spike clutched the bottle of lubricant, and though his head was bowed, it was easy to see that he was trying hard not to push his cock through the circle of his fingers, not to grip harder. By the bed, he stopped and extended the little bottle to Xander.
�And we're muddling.
As his hand closed around the lubricant, Xander's fingers brushed Spike's, and it was like touching a live wire. The heat shot through him, and he saw Spike start as well, feeling the same thing. "Get back on the bed, same as before," Xander gritted out, struggling to maintain control, "and hold out your hand."
Spike climbed onto the bed and arranged himself, and once more Xander felt that thrill of power course through him. Just the thought of what he planned to do to that long, beautiful body was enough to bring him close. As Spike spread his legs wide, obeying the orders, Xander stood up and started undressing, pulling his t-shirt from his jeans. Spike eyes darted down Xander's chest, over the belt, and Xander could see him fighting between the urge to watch and the knowledge that leering would probably be considered disobedient. Finally, Spike confined his gaze to the opposite wall, flustered.
"No," Xander snapped. "Don't look over there." Spike's eyes instantly returned to his. "Watch me. I want you to watch." Spike swallowed, and Xander could feel Spike's gaze sliding down his chest as he pulled the shirt up over his shoulders and off. Next came the jeans, and he was hotly aware of Spike's eyes on him, riveted now to the slowly widening vee of skin being exposed by the button fly. Xander felt the flush climb on his skin, an all-over-body blush heating him and making him shiver in the suddenly cool air.
Carefully, he tucked his thumbs into the waist of the jeans, into the elastic of his black briefs. His nails lightly scratched the tender skin at his hips, and he shivered all over again under the shrill sensation, under Spike's eyes, under the entire situation he found himself in � master to a slave, artist to a muse, worshipper to a deity. He dragged the coarse fabric off of his legs, away from his body, and felt the heated air on him, caught the scent of sweat and need that rose from between his legs. Spike shifted on the bed, eyes fixed on Xander's erection, and the look in his eyes�
Xander felt it hit him like a tidal wave: longing. Spike wanted him. It was naked in his eyes as a tree's limbs in winter, fragile, but still somehow tough, enduring. He'd shown the same need in the club. It was why Xander had picked him. Xander was suddenly bizarrely proud of him, and in that moment he felt like the worst hack the artistic world had ever spawned. This man was expressive and evocative and just� art, all by himself. And when the showing in New York came, and he was celebrated as a genius, he'd know the truth � any fourth-grader with a magic marker could have wowed the critics if they'd had Spike for a model.
He climbed onto the bed and knelt between Spike's thighs. Spike sighed, lips parting gently, and lifted his hips to show the shadowed cleft, coy and inviting. For a moment, the urge to just drive into him right there was almost too strong, almost overwhelming. But he clung to the thoughts of what he wanted to do, what he had planned, and tried not to think, but just to let the words come out of his mouth.
"Here." He flicked open the lubricant and spread a liberal amount on Spike's fingers. Spike held it, careful not to spill, and looked up at him with curiosity in the lift of his eyebrow. Xander reminded himself to breathe and took Spike by the wrist, guided his hand down past the rigid cock to his entrance. Spike's eyes went round as Xander touched slicked fingertips to the tender flesh.
"I want you to do this, and let me see." He was embarrassed even as he was saying it; the thought alone was almost too much. Spike was still awestruck, his hand staying where Xander'd placed it, and for a horrible moment, Xander wondered if he'd gone too far. "I mean, if that's allowed. You have to tell me if you're not�"
"No!" Spike blurted. "No, I mean� it's allowed, yeah. And I can do� I just thought you'd be less forward about it! I mean, I thought you wouldn't� I mean, you've�" Xander was relieved to see he wasn't the only one who could be self-conscious; Spike squirmed and fidgeted under his steady gaze, blush flaming under his ivory skin, trying to dig himself out of the hole he was now in.
Xander was amused, but it didn't take precedence over the lust coursing through his body, didn't come close. He was definitely impatient to see the image he'd created in his head, for Spike to do as he'd been told. And thinking of it that way gave him a peculiar sense of disappointment. "So you're hesitating? I mean, I gave you an order, and you're not�"
Spike's mouth became a little �o' as he realized what he'd done, heard the tone in Xander's words. His words and actions were simultaneous, and when his slicked fingers began to push into his waiting entrance, his voice shivered with it. "God, I didn't mean it. I'm s-sorry, please, I w-I won't-w�" Xander watched as the blunt-tipped fingers spread Spike open, saw the cock shivering above; clear, shining fluid dripping down onto the flat stomach. He could smell Spike's arousal as Spike pushed his head back into the pillows, gelled locks curling under the pressure.
Then Xander was struck with an impulse. Spike had disobeyed. Quickly, before he could stop himself, Xander took Spike's leg in one hand and pulled it up and around, forcing Spike onto his side. Surprised, Spike let his hand slide free, but Xander was already moving, bringing his flat palm back and then raining stinging slaps down on Spike's curved ass. Spike cried out, a combination of shock, pain and lust, but it didn't last long. Xander was too close, and spanking Spike for his disobedience � the tingle of pain in his palm, the warm skin under his fingers, Spike moaning and arching into him � was too much for any human being to bear. Xander wrapped one hand around his aching cock and squeezed, then stroked just once, and then he was coming, feeling the intense bliss race through him like a flash flood at midnight, lightning ripping across the sky. When it subsided, Xander was left with a slow burn low in his belly. It hadn't been enough, just as he'd known it wouldn't, and he smiled with satisfaction.
Spike stretched a little, rearranging his limbs, and Xander's attention returned to him. He looked contrite for his misdeed, waiting for Xander to pronounce him forgiven, if he was lucky, or punish him further, but something� perhaps it was in his posture, lazy and feline, or in his eyes, sparkling with glee, but he unquestionably bore the faint aroma of having just been in the cookie jar.
Xander decided to let that go, given what had just happened, especially since Spike looked a little wicked like that, which was unquestionably sexy. And, also, because Spike's side was striped in come, and Xander was feeling very possessive of him.

He took hold of Spike's leg again and lifted a little. "Move it around the way it was�" Spike obliged immediately, and Xander grinned at him. "Good. Now. Finish what you were doing before you disobeyed me." Spike's eyes fluttered closed on a groan, and his hand slid down between his thighs to obey. As he stroked himself, Xander got up. Spike almost stopped, looked at him and made a little moaning sound of protest, but Xander leaned down and slowly licked the hand still moving between Spike's legs. "I'll be right back."
Spike's gasp and immediate harsh groan made Xander laugh under his breath. He felt fantastic, amazing. And, now, not even a little bit inadequate.
A moment's search in the bathroom yielded a towel, and Xander wetted it with hot water and came back to clean Spike up. The blond sighed under the attention, hand still obediently moving as Xander moved the warm cloth over his skin. He started high on Spike's side and moved downward, letting the heat of the water soak into the alabaster skin. Spike made yearning sounds under Xander's fingers, arching into the touch, the pleasure he felt displayed on his face like elegant letters across a white page. Not for the first time, Xander wondered at how beautiful he was.
As he worked, Xander edged closer to the front, and Spike gasped when Xander wrapped the heated, wet fabric around his cock. Spike's fingers stilled, and his eyes flew to Xander's.
"Three fingers, now," Xander ordered gently, and squeezed. Spike moaned, a small, breathy sound, and did as Xander told him. He was trembling now, all trace of amusement or complacency gone. His eyes were near black with need, and he looked up at his tormentor, silently asking, pleading, begging. Please, he seemed to say. I need you. I have this pain inside me; you've seen it, you bloody painted it, and I need you to make me feel something else. Anything else. Please. It stole Xander's breath, the way Spike looked at him.
He began to move. Up and down, he worked the cloth over Spike's erection. "Keep moving your fingers," he instructed, and Spike nodded fervently, obeying even as Xander spoke the words. "Now, I want you to know, for after: I'm not done with you yet. I'll give you a minute, but we're not finished, okay?"
Spike bit his lip, breathing rushing harshly in the still air, and nodded.
"You can say something, if you want."
Spike hesitated, seemed to fight with himself for a moment. Then, very quietly, he breathed, "I want� I want you�"
Xander grinned and dropped the cloth, then took Spike in his hand. Spike keened high, fingers busy between his legs, and Xander stripped him purposefully, deliberately, working the hard flesh like he would his own. He tried not to think about it. Didn't think that this was new, that Spike was curved and long, but that Xander himself was thicker, and that it was strange to feel the glans from the other way around, his thumb gliding over the sensitive cluster of nerves. He tried to focus instead on Spike. On the way he twitched in Xander's hand, the way he stopped moving his own fingers deep inside because he couldn't concentrate. On his eyes, as they screwed up, on his pink lips as they parted, breath flooding between them as Spike reached higher and higher. All too soon, Spike was jerking into Xander's hand and crying out, his cock pulsing strong as release wracked his body.
Xander knew he'd see this moment a thousand times again. He'd see it in the second before he came when he was jerking off in the shower. He'd see it in his mind's eye, when he painted it, because he would absolutely paint it. But most of all, he'd see Spike like this, shivering in ecstasy, whenever someone asked him to describe what �awestruck' meant. Because this? This was like being there when someone gave birth, or when someone died. This was seeing someone get married or divorced, set free from prison after twenty years or thrown in to begin with. This was serious, important, and Xander knew, somehow, that this was different from every other time Spike was with someone. He knew Spike was showing him something not just anyone got to see, and he was struck with how personal it was, how much trust Spike was giving him. It was a privilege.
Soon, Spike relaxed, replete, breathing heavily, and Xander let him go. He couldn't wait, not one more minute. He turned to the bedside cabinet, Spike making shaky sounds behind him, got a condom and rolled it on. He crawled back onto the bed and between Spike's legs, ran his hands over Spike's legs in long, sweeping strokes.
"You all right?"
Spike nodded, smiling. "Yeah, all right."
"Okay," Xander said, and left it at that, because anything else would sound trite and stupid. Maybe it was corny, or hell, even trite and stupid, but he couldn't stop himself from taking one of Spike's hands in his, twining their fingers together. Spike's palm was warm, and he tilted his head and looked at Xander inquisitively, asking his silent questions again, but he held on tight as Xander moved into position. Then all thought was gone.
He nudged against Spike's entrance, felt the heat instantly brand him. Spike's inquisitive look vanished, his face intense. Carefully, Xander edged inside, and the heat and tightness almost overloaded him.
"God, Spike�" The words hovered between them, begging for a response, but Spike didn't say anything, and Xander wondered feverishly if Spike spoke, if that'd release a flood of words, if they'd have to say everything they'd implicitly understood up till now, if that'd take years to say properly. Just as fast, he realized that he didn't want to say any of it, just wanted it unspoken between them as he pushed deeper into Spike's body, in him now as surely as Spike was in Xander himself, in his studio and on his canvas.
Spike moaned, tried to cant his hips upward, to take more, faster. More unspoken words, and Xander responded, pushing in farther. Spike's voice rose as he thrust, and that shot straight through Xander's body, tingled over his skin, drove him further, faster, until he was pushed right up against Spike's body, and could go no further. Spike's breath was ragged and the sounds he made were desperate, frantic.
"Ready?" Xander managed to ask.
Spike broke. "God, yes, please, please, anything, please�"
Restraint was gone, caution with it, as Xander threw himself against Spike like fucking him was the only way to keep him, the only way to stop him from going back to whatever mystic world he really came from and leaving Xander stranded on earth. Both pairs of hands now were clenched together as Xander crowded into Spike, slamming against him over and over, his head resting on Spike's shoulder, tasting the salt sweat sheening the delicate skin.
Like a distant train, Xander felt his climax coming, and he threw himself into getting as much of Spike as he could, fucking him hard and fast, Spike near screaming beneath him, feeling Spike's fingernails drag across his back, dig into his ass, urging him on. Finally, like an act of God, he felt his body start to shake, and then there was blinding light behind his eyes and splashes of color and an explosion and an earthquake and possibly, far in the distance, an orchestra.

It was quiet, and the fire burned low.
"Do you want to see it?"
Spike and Xander stood face to face in the living room. They were both dressed in what clothes they'd had on, but Spike's whole attitude was different. No more the obedient slave, nor the abrasive punk, he stood quiet and peculiarly still.
"Nah. Think I'd best not. Just wind up with something to say about it, and I get in trouble that way."
They both laughed softly, and Xander looked at him with genuine fondness. "I get that. But just so you know, they make prints sometimes, so if you wander across yourself in an art gallery some day, I am not to blame."
More serious, then, Xander stepped toward him, edging into his space like one would a wary dog, leaving plenty of room for objection. When none were forthcoming, Xander touched Spike's sleeve gently, tentatively.
"Will� will I ever see you again?"
Spike ducked his head, almost sadly. "Probably not. Don't have a reason to come to the club anymore, and that's where I'll be."
"But�"
"Hush," he said, peculiarly gentle. "I need it. You know that. So don't say something I'll have to argue with you about, right?"
Again, they smiled together. "Okay," said Xander. "If I wanted, could I come get you from the club?"
"Well, yeah," said Spike, sounding a little surprised, "but it wouldn't be different. I mean, apart from the painting." He grinned, white teeth flashing.
"Oh, there'd be painting, mister, you bet your kittens."
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Kittens?"
"I had trouble coming up with something you'd bet," Xander confessed.
"Something wrong with money?"
"Nah. Nevermind."
"Right." Spike patted the pockets of the long black duster, checked to make sure he had everything. He did. They stared at each other across the long distance, awkward and strange.
Then they were kissing, and it was so much better, and Xander wasn't sure who'd started it, but it didn't seem to matter. Lips to lips, shared breath, so close that sight was just a blur of flesh and color, and touch was all that mattered.
Sooner or later, there was the sharp blast of a car horn outside. Spike pulled away. "That's my cab," he said, looking over his shoulder.
Xander held the lapels of his black jacket. "Don't go," he said, prideless. "Stay with me. You don't have to go back. I'd take care of you."
They kissed again, and Xander tasted apology on Spike's lips. "Can't, love. Time isn't right." He kissed Xander once, almost chastely, and stepped back. Xander let him go. "You don't need this," Spike said, producing his cigarettes, "and so long as I do�" He shrugged and tapped one out, set the filter to his lips. The reasons poured through the air between them, unspoken like everything else.
Xander nodded, regretfully. "You might be right."
The horn sounded again, impatient and intrusive. "Come by the club any time," Spike said, walking toward the door. Xander followed, and when Spike left the apartment, he held the door, watching Spike walk to the cab.
"Hey, Spike," he called, when the blond was just about to climb in. The rain had stopped, and the streetlights looked down to the black road. It smelled hushed and new, waiting for the dawn, like the storm had washed out the alleys and gutters and left things clean.
"Yeah?" He stood there, shining under the light, one booted foot planted on the pavement, one up on the runner.
"You were worth it. Without the painting." He meant it. He would have paid anything for tonight.
Spike's smile was like the first rays of the rising sun. "Thanks, mate," he said, his quiet, meaningful voice carrying easily through the silent morning. And then he got in the cab, and drove away.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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Chiaroscuro