Doing My Duty, Part Two
Jul. 15th, 2008 10:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lokifanTitle: Doing My Duty, 02/02
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 6000 - this part
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Spike – Harry Potter/Buffy The Vampire Slayer crossover
Summary: Harry meets a vampire in a pub. Being an Auror, it’s his public duty to keep an eye on the vamp, and keep him under control.
Warnings: BDSM – bondage, orgasm denial, light bloodplay, spanking, light somnophilia. Umm... fluff?
Disclaimer: The boys belong to JKR, even though I’m often nicer to them than she is.
Author’s Notes: Written for thematic_hp’s D/s and BDSM round, prompt 12: Harry meets Spike in a bar in England, he's an anomaly and Harry spots straight away that the vampire needs to feel like he belongs. The Wizard takes the reins and Spike falls easily under the young man's control. (loving consensual BDSM.) This also corresponds to the AWDT prompt “Because I said so.”
Part One
Harry woke the next morning to find himself lying on his side, with Spike snuggling into his front. The vampire’s cool flesh was pressed against him, body curled to match Harry’s contours. Harry smiled into Spike’s fuzzy hair and pressed a kiss against his nape. So typical of the little vampire to want contact, even in sleep. He wondered again how the current Slayer could possibly have run off instead of fully taking advantage. Harry ran a proprietary hand down Spike’s chest at the thought: the Slayer couldn’t have him now. He belonged to Harry.
At that thought, Harry’s morning erection twitched a little against Spike’s ripe arse. He sat up on one elbow and reached across the vampire to the bedside table for the lube. Spike was still out for the count, his face slack and peaceful against the pillow; it made Harry smile to think he could sleep so deeply with Harry there, trusting him completely.
Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have a little fun.
Harry lubed a couple of fingers awkwardly, keeping his left hand dry and propping his chin on it, so he could watch Spike’s face. Then he slid his hand down Spike’s body, and into his cleft, worming his fingers between Spike’s cheeks until he found the crinkled skin of his hole. He tapped at it softly, watching Spike’s dark eyebrows contract briefly in a frown before the vampire relaxed again.
Harry chuckled softly, and pressed a finger inside Spike. He pushed it slowly in and out, feeling Spike’s muscles relax easily. He worked the other slick finger into the vampire’s hole and began playing in earnest. He wriggled the fingers inside Spike, stroking them softly down his inner walls and stretching him slowly. He touched Spike’s prostate, running his fingers over it and watching as Spike began to squirm in his sleep, making a soft moan. Harry stopped, waiting, until he relaxed into unconsciousness once more, then continued touching.
He kept playing for about ten minutes: running his fingers round Spike’s entrance and tapping them at his hole until Spike’s eyelashes began to flutter, then stopping to let him fall back asleep. There was an undeniable power in doing this to Spike without the vampire even being aware of what was going on. Harry’s lips curved in a smirk as he played, pressing his fingers inside Spike to the root and pumping them inside to watch Spike’s barely-conscious reactions. The dozy whimpers were delicious, as were the tiny gasps. He’d have to remember to tire Spike out again, if it let him do this: treat the vampire as a toy, one that could be played with and allowed to respond only as Harry wished.
Finally, sleepy blue eyes opened. Harry watched Spike blink fuzzily, obviously not entirely awake. A thought crossed his mind; with a wicked smirk, he found Spike’s prostate again and pressed.
Spike’s eyes went wide as his whole body jerked and a strangled cry was torn from his mouth. Harry laughed, deliberately moving with him to keep his fingers firmly against the gland. He watched Spike’s face go slack and his eyes shut in bliss even as the vampire writhed, garbled words spilling from his mouth.
Finally Harry pulled back a little, leaving Spike a trembling, panting mess on the bed. He watched while the vampire slowly calmed down. Then Spike twisted his head to look up at him, with amused blue eyes.
“Havin’ some fun with me while I was out, Master?”
Harry grinned and flexed his fingers inside Spike’s hole, grinning as the vampire’s dark eyelashes fluttered and he moaned. “Lots of fun. I couldn’t help myself.”
He pulled his fingers from Spike with a pop. Harry grabbed Spike’s shoulder and pulled him flat on his back, before rolling on top. He smiled in satisfaction when Spike instantly spread his legs, uncomplaining. He rolled his hips, feeling Spike follow the movement; their erections brushed together and Harry swallowed a moan.
He lifted himself up, hands pressing firmly against the sheets on either side of Spike’s torso, caging him with his arms. Then he lifted his left hand to Spike’s face, drawing it down the side of his bone-white face, before running one finger down across his plush lower lip. Spike stared up at him with faintly confused blue eyes; Harry thought he saw the shadow of an old hurt. “What’re you doing, then?”
“Touching you,” Harry said, smiling. “You’re so nice to touch and play with... my pretty Spike. So mine.”
Spike’s lips pursed as he looked up at Harry, eyes confused. Harry wasn’t sure if the confusion was due to what he’d said – the mix of affection and unrelenting possessiveness – or simply because he was trying to work out if he could retort angrily and get away with it. Harry decided to head off any silly defiance: he didn’t want to punish Spike. He wanted to fuck him.
He sat back, kneeling between Spike’s legs, and spread him. The sight of his glistening hole, reddened and open, had him groaning. Then he felt a cool hand on his cock.
He looked at Spike. The blond was blinking shyly and smiling. “Let me slick you up?”
Harry grinned, and handed him the lube.
Spike’s long fingers worked smoothly over his cock. Harry watched his face: the mouth slightly open, the eyes intent. Then Spike tweaked the head of his cock wickedly, and Harry groaned. He moved over Spike with a growl and pushed into the exquisite tightness in one long, smooth thrust.
They moaned simultaneously at the feeling: tight, cool flesh sliding slickly around him, or burning hotness pushing into him, taking him. It took all Harry’s self-control not to just thrust blindly until he came inside Spike: the thought of marking him a scent the vampire would smell all day sent base arousal flashing through him. But he groped for control and found it; fucking Spike slowly, he watched his face. God, the way his eyes were so tightly shut, long black lashes against pale skin; the way his pouty lips went slack at Harry’s more powerful thrusts; the way he panted unnecessarily as Harry fucked him...
Then Spike’s eyes opened and their gazes met. The connection was sizzling with lust, but staring into Spike’s blue eyes sent other emotions entirely through Harry’s heart. He raised a hand and stroked it over Spike’s lower lip; Spike was blinking at him, confused.
Suddenly confused himself, Harry diffused the moment the best way he knew how: he fucked harder. His hands came down on Spike’s wrists to hold him down, and he shut his eyes and just moved, loving the feel of Spike’s channel and the way the slick muscle was forced to accommodate his cock, his taking.
“God...” Spike groaned. “God, I’ve got to come.” His cock was already so red it looked painful after the denial of last night. Harry considered letting him wank off, watching him work himself desperately... but that wouldn’t be nearly so fun.
“What makes you think I’m going to let you come, Spike?” he asked silkily, thrusting leisurely into the vampire. “Do you think you’ve earned it?”
He hit Spike’s prostate right then, and the resulting moan was pleading, broken as Spike’s breath caught. “Oh God, Harry come on, fuck...”
“That’s what we’re doing.” He lowered his head, hair brushing lightly over Spike’s skin, and caught a pink nipple in his teeth. He tugged at it and Spike moaned again, his back arching, pressing his chest to Harry’s mouth. Harry kept playing, biting and sucking, until Spike’s nipple was shiny with saliva and reddened with abuse. And all the time he kept up his leisurely fucking, relentlessly driving Spike towards the brink, and didn’t even brush his cock.
“Come on,” Spike said, voice unsteady. “This is very nice an’ all, but I want to get off.”
“And I asked you,” Harry said, dark voice curling round the words like a snake round silk, “if you think you’ve earned it.”
“I – I got you off yesterday, didn’t I?"
The pleading expression on Spike’s face, the helpless, entreating look of his eyes, the desperate pleading for relief, knowing it wouldn’t happen unless Harry let it, knowing he belonged to Harry – All of it fused in Harry’s head and then exploded like a firework, lights sparking in his vision as he came.
He opened his eyes to find Spike staring up at him with a despairing expression. “Harry, Harry it hurts!” He obviously thought he wasn’t going to be allowed to come, now Harry had found his pleasure. But his sweet begging was just too lovely not to reward.
Harry grinned down wickedly into Spike’s face, raised to him like a flower towards the sun. Then he dropped and drew Spike’s petal-soft, granite-hard cock into his mouth in one movement.
Spike howled, his hips jerking uncontrollably against Harry’s benevolent mouth. Harry sucked hard, pressing his tongue to the slit and flicking it over the head, wanting Spike to have an orgasm worth the wait. If the noises he was making were any indication, the blowjob would do it: it was in fact the best blowjob in the history of time. But it could still be better: Harry relaxed his throat, and swallowed Spike’s cock.
It only took three thrusts before Spike was coming, come shooting from his cock while he howled, his entire body rigid. He came, and came, leaving Harry’s throat raw. Finally he was finished; when Harry pulled back, he saw to his amusement (and not a little masculine pride) that Spike was unconscious: his body was absolutely limp, his face still.
Harry disengaged himself with a wince: he wanted to stay here, fucking Spike and stroking Spike and enjoying Spike, but he wasn’t going to be able to take care of his vampire if he lost his job.
...What?
When had he started thinking that way? When had calling Spike ‘mine’ gone from something that got Harry hot in bed, to something that affected his ‘real’ life? More than that, when had he decided it was his job to take care of Spike?
But then who else was there? And certainly somebody had to take care of him: he didn’t seem to be any good at doing it himself. He was unable to defend himself, he was rash and impulsive... he was fucking hot, and Harry was going to make sure no harm came to that beautiful body and endearing personality. He wasn’t finished with him yet, after all.
Harry showered and dressed quietly – no time for breakfast. He checked on Spike once more before he left for work; opening his bedroom door, a smile he was helpless to stop broke over his face. The vampire was lying exactly where he had been when Harry left him. His legs were bent up awkwardly and his arms were strewn on the pillow, but his face was peaceful.
Harry smiled indulgently and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll come and see you later,” he whispered to the sleeping vampire. Then he ran a gentle, propietary hand down Spike’s chest, and left as quietly as he could.
~*~
Spike once again gave thanks for the static nature of the wizarding community. He’d seen little of it while in England – being born without magic, and then under the thumb of a patriarch who considered magic users to be dangerous creatures best avoided. Angelus’ declaration had, of course, made seeing the wizarding community unbelievably tempting for the young William, and he’d run off to Diagon Alley the moment he was left alone. His subsequent thrashing had left him in agony and unable to move while the other three attended parties. Still, Spike now knew exactly where Knockturn Alley was and that it was a ready source of human blood: on balance, he thought it was worth it.
He nodded at the butcher as the man handed him his brown paper bag, filled with bottles of blood. He was one of the creepier specimens Spike had encountered down this alley, with dark, stringy hair and filthy robes. His ‘buy two, get one half-price’ offer on human ears was a little disquieting, too.
“Oi! Who’re you then?”
Spike turned, and his lip turned up in an instinctive sneer. Three young men – boys, really, they looked younger than Harris and even less competent – had just swaggered into the shop. One of them, a freckled redhead, came forward with a matching sneer.
“Go on, then,” he said. “What’s in the bag?”
Spike gave him a contemptuous scowl and shoved past. Tried to, anyway – the redhead and his mate, a black man with dreadlocks, got in the way. Spike glared and tried not to notice the prickling awareness of the chip and the fact that English wizards always carried wands; he also studiously ignored the humiliating fact that he was shorter than both of them.
“None of your business, mate. What do you care what a bloke likes to buy when he’s shopping?” Spike spoke with forced casualness.
“We don’t know what you might be buying,” the third youth said coolly. “You might be a dark wizard buying human body parts for your spells. Who knows what people like you put in their cauldrons?”
“I’m not a wizard at all, mate,” Spike said. “I don’t do spells, with human body parts or not – too many consequences.” The sight of a dead-eyed Buffy fighting, then fucking him with such desperation, flashed across his mind’s eye and he swallowed. Affecting nonchalance, he turned to look at the butcher without giving the boys his back. “Wanna talk to these boys giving your valued customers a hard time?”
“No point,” the man hissed, backing further behind the counter. “Wannabe heroes like these puffed-up little Griffin-doors never listen to men like me. It ruins their sense of moral righteousness.”
Spike raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.” He hadn’t understood any of that, except for the fact that he was on his own.
He faced the youths again, deliberately keeping his face and eyes hard. But then he’d been doing that the whole time he’d been in Knockturn Alley, not being a complete idiot, and it hadn’t stopped these wankers bothering him. It certainly didn’t bother them now: they were pressing closer, invading Spike’s personal space. Then, to Spike’s utter outrage, the black boy poked rudely at his hair.
“You a wannabe Mal-foi or something?”
Spike didn’t understand the word, but he knew it was an insult. He snarled and lost his rag, going into gameface with a furious growl just as one of the other bastards, poking at his brown bag, succeeded in seeing the blood inside.
“Vampire!”
All three of them piled backwards, retreating in a chaotic, stumbling rush. Spike felt a moment of screaming triumph at their fear, feeling at the top of the food chain as he hadn’t since before the chip – then the little bleeders stopping retreating, and raised their wands. Spike recognised the expressions on their faces from a thousand fights against and alongside the Scoobies. They were scared, but they fancied themselves heroes and they weren’t going to run.
Got to get out. It’s just a shame they’re so near the door.
Spike’s adrenaline-laced thoughts raced, while the youths panted and tried to work up the courage to attack – or maybe just tried to remember if there was a ‘staking vampires’ spell.
Aha.
He began to advance on the wizards – very slowly, so they wouldn’t panic. His swagger and the slow curl of his lips into a predator’s grin set their hearts beating ever faster: Spike’s nose was full of the stink of fear, with top notes of bravado.
“It’s been a while since I had human blood straight from the tap,” he said slowly, feeling his demon rise still further at this truth. “And you all seem to have volunteered yourselves for the duty.” Spike caught one wizard starting to mouth a spell, and growled. The boy flinched.
“You smell good,” he continued, getting closer. He was channelling every menacing, cliched speech he’d ever heard Angelus or horror-film villains say. “That fear – ” he let his tongue flick out from behind his fangs, like a snake tasting the air. “Delicious.”
Crap! One of the boys was aiming his wand and he wasn’t going to stop. Spike dropped the blood and dove, slamming out through the shop door before the idiot boys knew what’d hit ’em. In an instant he was up again and running, racing for his life down the cobbled street and howling with frustrated bloodlust, even as he laughed inwardly at the wizards’ defeat and outran them with blissful ease.
~*~
Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed. The paperwork for his current case was giving him a headache: investigating financial fraud involved a lot of forms, not to speak of arguing with the Gringotts goblins over whether he should be allowed to see financial records. Somehow they just didn’t seem to realise that –
A sudden commotion outside broke Harry from his thoughts. Thankful for the distraction, he left his cubicle to find Auror Team B, of five people, rushing around yelling to each other. He buttonholed one of the younger Aurors, Smithers, who was staring at them too. “What’s going on?”
Smithers jumped. She was still at that Oh-wow-it’s-Harry-Potter stage, but no doubt she’d get past the awe once she’d seen his reaction to the coffee running out. “There’s been a vampire sighting, Mr Potter,” she said breathlessly. “In Knockturn Alley. He was buying blood, and he threatened some kids who asked him what he was doing.”
Harry’s expression made Smithers squeak and back away.
“Tell me, Smithers,” Harry said grimly. “What did this vampire look like?”
~*~
Spike sprawled in front of the telly when he got back and opened a beer: nothing else to drink now the bastards had lost him his blood. He glared at the screen, kicking sulkily at the carpet. Neighbours just didn’t have the right vibe for a vampire’s sulk. For God’s sake, it didn’t even have Eastenders’ bodycount.
Suddenly there came a volley of sharp raps at the door. Usually this would be a welcome distraction (if only for the novelty value – Spike hadn’t had someone actually knock since he’d set up in Sunnydale). But Spike could guess who it was, and his reaction to Spike’s little adventure would no doubt be ‘less than pleased’.
The knocks kept coming and Spike could actually feel Harry getting angrier: the smell of it was coming from the hall. Harry wasn’t giving up. Spike studiously ignored the part of himself that liked that, that was flattered at how bothered Harry was and that felt a naughty little thrill at the thought of Harry’s anger.
He’d better open the door. Because – because he wasn’t going away, and the noise was getting annoying.
He stamped over to the door and threw it open. Predictably, there stood Harry, tall and dark and angry, his green eyes glowing with emotion. His lips were tight. The moment the door was fully open, Harry stepped past him Spike into the little hall.
Spike swallowed, turning to face him; then he lifted his chin. “What?” he snarled. “Come to tell me I’ve been a naughty boy?”
“Yes,” Harry said calmly. His green eyes were cool and implacable as marble.
Spike snarled something – even he didn’t know what – and tried to shoulder past, back to his telly and Ramsay Street. Before he’d gone a foot Harry had grabbed his biceps and swung him round, slamming him up against the wall. It should have been like Buffy doing it – God knows he was used to hero-types smacking him around – but it wasn’t, and not just because Harry was tall and broad and dark, somehow becoming the whole world while Buffy was the bright light illuminating it. Because whatever Harry’s wants or needs, he wasn’t desperate or clinging on, brittle instead of strong. He didn’t forget that Spike had feelings, whatever his lack of a soul. He didn’t forget that Spike needed things, too.
Spike relaxed into the hold automatically, though he could feel his eyes still flaring with the old gold of the demon’s gaze.
“Now look, Spike. I told you to keep your head down, and I told you why you needed to do it. The Aurors are aware of you now, they’re looking for you. I’ll make sure they don’t arrest you, but for fuck’s sake, Spike – getting into a fight with three wizards isn’t keeping your head down.”
Spike pouted. Unfortunately, it didn’t work like it usually had with Angelus to get him out of trouble. “Wasn’t my fault,” he protested. “The wankers started with me, not the other way round.”
Harry raised a sceptical black brow. “And you just calmly walked away, did you?” Spike glared, going hot all over with embarrassment and lust at the thought that his foibles were exposed, that Harry knew him so well already. “I don’t want to hear about you at work again, Spike.” Finally Harry stepped away, but Spike knew better than to move from his position, flat against the wall. Harry reached out and curled a hand over Spike’s nape, pulling his head down a little. “You’re being punished for this.”
Spike shuddered a little in his grip, but he didn’t fight. He hadn’t come to London looking for someone to belong to, but he seemed to have found him anyway. He let Harry lead him, hand still on the back of his neck, to the old armchair. Harry sat down on it, and patted his lap. “Come on. Take the duster off and pull your jeans down – it’s a spanking for you.”
Spike’s lips tightened at the indignity, but he remembered what had happened the last time he disobeyed. Taking off the duster actually helped: there went Spike, there went the attitude and the shell. Pulling down his jeans, though; that was different. Harry was eyeing his arse like he was salivating, and it was awkward as hell trying to position himself over Harry’s knees with his jeans round his thighs.
But that was the point, wasn’t it? Making him feel awkward, and embarrassed. God, there was nothing quite like the indignity of being over someone’s lap, arse raised for some well-deserved slaps. He wriggled a little on Harry’s lap, pressing his hot face into the arm of the chair.
To Spike’s surprise, Harry didn’t immediately get stuck into spanking him, the way Angelus always had. Instead, he started rubbing his arse, smoothing his warm hand over the skin, rubbing fingers softly into his cleft. Spike moaned softly, loving the soft handling, even as Harry’s iron voice chastised him.
“I told you specifically not to get in trouble with the Aurors, Spike. Not even a week and you’ve already disobeyed me. I’m disappointed in you. I thought you’d do better, but apparently I was wrong. You’re going to learn.”
Spike squirmed a little, breath catching at Harry’s tone. He felt a tendril of fear work its way through his heart: and some guilt, too. He tried to tell himself off sternly for this Pavlovian reaction, but then –
Smack. Harry’s warm, hard hand came down on his bare right arse cheek. Spike jumped at the bright, hot flare of pain: Harry’s soft touches had left his skin so sensitised that even one hard slap had him biting his lip. And Harry didn’t stop there.
At first he enjoyed it: spanking was just right for the sort of pleasure-pain he enjoyed most. Harry’s hard hand came down, and down again, repetitive, strong strokes; Spike hardened quickly and was soon left thrusting against Harry’s hard thigh with each blow. Each spank sent heat flaring through him.
But then Harry began to speak, and his tone made it impossible to forget that this was not for fun.
“You will never disobey me again. If you do, I’ll punish you.” He swatted Spike’s arse at each word, humiliating him with the lighter, almost contemptuous touches. But then the spanks hardened again, and they kept coming, and Spike wished to God they would stop.
“How dare you defy me, Spike? If I give you orders they’re for a good reason!” And after that Harry stopped talking, just spanked him and spanked him and spanked him, until Spike’s arse and thighs were burning and he was sure they must be so red and he was sniffling into the cloth and writhing under each blow and wailing at the hurt and his cock was so hard it was dripping.
Finally, Harry slowed, and stopped. Spike lay limply over his knees, damp face against his trousers, and panted. Harry’s fingers were trailing over his burning arse cheeks; Spike whined at the heat.
“Get up.”
Spike went limp for a moment in relief, then struggled up.
“Right, over my lap the other way.”
He laughed at Spike’s expression. “Did you think that was the end of it? Oh no, my boy, you’re going to learn good and well not to defy me. So you’ll lie over my knee in the other direction, and my left hand can have a go at spanking obedience into you.”
Spike whined and lay down, feeling horribly exposed as Harry took the opportunity, first, to strip his t-shirt and jeans from him. Then the hand came down again, reigniting the pain in his arse and thighs, knowing so exactly where to smack for the greatest pain – oh, that spot where his arse met his thighs was aching – this had to stop.
“Please stop, Harry,” he snivelled, trying to sound beaten down: which wasn’t hard, considering how he was feeling. “Please, I’m sorry.”
The spanking paused, and Spike felt a moment of hope before –
Smack!
The spanks were harder than any before, crashing down on his poor arse, and Spike cried out.
“Don’t you dare try to trick me, brat. Do it again and we’ll try a cane.”
The swats kept coming, and Spike was really crying now, and he couldn’t stop his feet kicking like some fucking kid and then it stopped.
After a moment, he dared to glance up.
“I’m sorry, Spike. But it’s for your own good.”
Spike snorted wetly. “I’ve heard that before.”
“Spike, what do you think would happen if the Aurors arrested you? You have to learn to obey me – in this more than anything else, because if you don’t you’ll get hurt. Don’t let that happen, Spike.”
The undeniable emotion in Harry’s voice made Spike pause. Harry really was worried for him; he didn’t want him to be hurt. And that made his spirits rise so high that he didn’t care, for a moment, how much his arse was aching.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I won’t do it again. Really.” He sniffed, and managed to choke back the remaining tears.
And then he felt hands on his body, and they weren’t hurting him this time: they lifted him and helped him settle, sitting on Harry’s lap, facing him. He gave a little grunt of pain when his arse came down, shifting; Harry chuckled.
“Sorry I’ve been such a wanker,” he said sincerely, meeting Harry’s eyes. “I didn’t... I’m not used to this. To people actually meaning it when they say they’re spanking me for my own good.”
Harry smiled, amused. “I know.” His big warm hands were rubbing soothingly up Spike’s back, and he couldn’t decided if it was more comforting or arousing. “I know it’s been hard. But I’m not like that.” A hand went to Spike’s chin, raising it. “I wouldn’t blow up your home. I’ll be your home, if you’ll let me.”
Spike moaned, helplessly, at the words: the words that seemed to soothe his non-existent soul, that filled up spaces emptied by all the different creatures who’d hurt him. He leant in for the kiss, diving into it, never wanting to come up for air. Their lips slid together and their tongues tangled; Spike gave a small, broken moan when he felt Harry’s lubricated fingers brush against his hole. He raised his arse, giving implicit permission, and moaned into Harry’s mouth as he was lovingly prepared.
Then Harry’s warm hands were on his thighs, lifting him up. Spike sat himself slowly on Harry’s cock, biting his lower lip at the strain of stretching for it even as their eyes stayed locked. When he’d managed it, he started moving. He fucked himself, loving Harry’s hard cock inside him and the way Harry’s hands were free to touch him; loving that now, he couldn’t stop Harry from skating his hands over his body, or squeezing his burning arse. Harry’s hands came down, holding his hips tightly and controlling his motion; Spike flung back his head, gasping, as he was slowly drawn down Harry’s cock, body shuddering at the prostate stimulation. Then one warm hand went to the small of his back, fingers splayed, keeping him close and safe.
Spike kept moving, and felt Harry start to fuck back as much as he could, pushing his cock still further inside. “You’re gonna be mine, now,” Harry muttered. “Can you smell me after I’m gone, Spike? Can other vampires smell my mark on you?”
“Yes, yes,” Spike moaned against his neck, squirming as Harry tugged his nipples. “They all know... know I’m yours...”
“And you know? Know that you’re mine to fuck, mine to suck, mine to keep and stroke and punish and hurt, know you’ll never fight me because I’ll look after you? Know that you belong to me?”
“I... I...” Spike was panting, eyes glazed; he couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, too overwhelmed by everything that was happening to reply. Then Harry squeezed his arse and clamped down on his neck, and he was sucking and squeezing and fucking owning Spike and it was all he could do to howl “yes!” before he was –
Coming, untouched, and the world was turning white and he was clenching around Harry’s cock and it was so good, and then Harry toppled after him and they collapsed together, breathing onto each other’s neck and slicking sweat over each other and holding close, Spike feeling small and safe and sleepy on Harry’s lap.
Then Harry did something Spike had never imagined he would do. He tipped his head back, myopic green eyes intense on him. “So, my Spike... are you hungry?”
Spike felt his eyes go wide. “I – I – ”
“You must be. You lost that blood you bought, didn’t you? And you’re mine to take care of. So feed from me.”
Spike made an unidentifiable sound: half helpless moan, half predatory growl, and buried his face in Harry’s neck.
The moment he tasted Harry’s blood was... indescribable. He’d never drunk a wizard’s blood before, not once in his entire existence, and it was... fuck. It was like swimming in tequila, it was like spinning in a star, it was having such creative, destructive power singing inside him and ringing in his ears. And the taste of it; the pride and possession and lust and love Harry was feeling, and all for him. He pressed closer, plastered to Harry’s chest, sucking and sucking and hearing himself making “mmm” sounds. Harry was stroking his hair, sending shivers down his spine, and fuck even Slayer’s blood hadn’t been like this.
He had to force himself to stop.
Finally he pulled off, licking his fangs to get the last of the blood before retracting them. “That was...”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Spike found himself being moved; Harry was standing and leading him to the bedroom. His head was fuzzy with orgasm and blood, and he let Harry take him by the hand, and lay him on the bed. When he was properly conscious again, the afterglow dying down, he was in his bed on his side, Harry facing him, and both of them equally naked.
Spike blinked sleepily, smiling when Harry did. Harry’s smile was indulgent, and his intense green eyes were soft. He reached out to touch Spike’s hair, and Spike even managed not to be embarrassed by the poodle foofiness.
“Hey, shouldn’t you be runnin’ off about now?” he said, voice going slow and slurred with tiredness. “Not that I want you to or anything, but don’t you have your hero duties ta be goin’ about?”
“No,” he said quietly. “Heroic duty’s not all it’s cracked up to be. You’re important too, Spike. And I’d rather do you than my duty any day.”
Spike snorted with laughter, and shut his eyes to better concentrate on the feeling of Harry’s long fingers stroking over his scalp. A purr began working its way up his throat.
“Besides, I’ve got a duty to you too. This is what vampire families do, isn’t it – sleep together during the day?”
“Yeah.” Spike felt warmth curling through his belly, like the heat of virgin’s blood. “You my new family, then?”
“I am if you want to play Daddy with me.” Harry reached out and tugged Spike into his arms. Spike made irritable little sounds at being moved, but let Harry arrange him as he liked: having his head on Harry’s shoulder, his own shoulders encircled by Harry’s strong arm, was nice, anyway. “You belong with me now. You know that, don’t you?”
Spike nestled closer, with a murmured not-answer. Declarations of love had never worked out for him well in the past; much better to stick to being a man of action, like Harry. He pressed a small kiss to Harry’s neck, and felt Harry’s arms tighten.
He drifted off to sleep in the grasp of Harry’s warm, immovable embrace.
FIN
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 6000 - this part
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Spike – Harry Potter/Buffy The Vampire Slayer crossover
Summary: Harry meets a vampire in a pub. Being an Auror, it’s his public duty to keep an eye on the vamp, and keep him under control.
Warnings: BDSM – bondage, orgasm denial, light bloodplay, spanking, light somnophilia. Umm... fluff?
Disclaimer: The boys belong to JKR, even though I’m often nicer to them than she is.
Author’s Notes: Written for thematic_hp’s D/s and BDSM round, prompt 12: Harry meets Spike in a bar in England, he's an anomaly and Harry spots straight away that the vampire needs to feel like he belongs. The Wizard takes the reins and Spike falls easily under the young man's control. (loving consensual BDSM.) This also corresponds to the AWDT prompt “Because I said so.”
Part One
Harry woke the next morning to find himself lying on his side, with Spike snuggling into his front. The vampire’s cool flesh was pressed against him, body curled to match Harry’s contours. Harry smiled into Spike’s fuzzy hair and pressed a kiss against his nape. So typical of the little vampire to want contact, even in sleep. He wondered again how the current Slayer could possibly have run off instead of fully taking advantage. Harry ran a proprietary hand down Spike’s chest at the thought: the Slayer couldn’t have him now. He belonged to Harry.
At that thought, Harry’s morning erection twitched a little against Spike’s ripe arse. He sat up on one elbow and reached across the vampire to the bedside table for the lube. Spike was still out for the count, his face slack and peaceful against the pillow; it made Harry smile to think he could sleep so deeply with Harry there, trusting him completely.
Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have a little fun.
Harry lubed a couple of fingers awkwardly, keeping his left hand dry and propping his chin on it, so he could watch Spike’s face. Then he slid his hand down Spike’s body, and into his cleft, worming his fingers between Spike’s cheeks until he found the crinkled skin of his hole. He tapped at it softly, watching Spike’s dark eyebrows contract briefly in a frown before the vampire relaxed again.
Harry chuckled softly, and pressed a finger inside Spike. He pushed it slowly in and out, feeling Spike’s muscles relax easily. He worked the other slick finger into the vampire’s hole and began playing in earnest. He wriggled the fingers inside Spike, stroking them softly down his inner walls and stretching him slowly. He touched Spike’s prostate, running his fingers over it and watching as Spike began to squirm in his sleep, making a soft moan. Harry stopped, waiting, until he relaxed into unconsciousness once more, then continued touching.
He kept playing for about ten minutes: running his fingers round Spike’s entrance and tapping them at his hole until Spike’s eyelashes began to flutter, then stopping to let him fall back asleep. There was an undeniable power in doing this to Spike without the vampire even being aware of what was going on. Harry’s lips curved in a smirk as he played, pressing his fingers inside Spike to the root and pumping them inside to watch Spike’s barely-conscious reactions. The dozy whimpers were delicious, as were the tiny gasps. He’d have to remember to tire Spike out again, if it let him do this: treat the vampire as a toy, one that could be played with and allowed to respond only as Harry wished.
Finally, sleepy blue eyes opened. Harry watched Spike blink fuzzily, obviously not entirely awake. A thought crossed his mind; with a wicked smirk, he found Spike’s prostate again and pressed.
Spike’s eyes went wide as his whole body jerked and a strangled cry was torn from his mouth. Harry laughed, deliberately moving with him to keep his fingers firmly against the gland. He watched Spike’s face go slack and his eyes shut in bliss even as the vampire writhed, garbled words spilling from his mouth.
Finally Harry pulled back a little, leaving Spike a trembling, panting mess on the bed. He watched while the vampire slowly calmed down. Then Spike twisted his head to look up at him, with amused blue eyes.
“Havin’ some fun with me while I was out, Master?”
Harry grinned and flexed his fingers inside Spike’s hole, grinning as the vampire’s dark eyelashes fluttered and he moaned. “Lots of fun. I couldn’t help myself.”
He pulled his fingers from Spike with a pop. Harry grabbed Spike’s shoulder and pulled him flat on his back, before rolling on top. He smiled in satisfaction when Spike instantly spread his legs, uncomplaining. He rolled his hips, feeling Spike follow the movement; their erections brushed together and Harry swallowed a moan.
He lifted himself up, hands pressing firmly against the sheets on either side of Spike’s torso, caging him with his arms. Then he lifted his left hand to Spike’s face, drawing it down the side of his bone-white face, before running one finger down across his plush lower lip. Spike stared up at him with faintly confused blue eyes; Harry thought he saw the shadow of an old hurt. “What’re you doing, then?”
“Touching you,” Harry said, smiling. “You’re so nice to touch and play with... my pretty Spike. So mine.”
Spike’s lips pursed as he looked up at Harry, eyes confused. Harry wasn’t sure if the confusion was due to what he’d said – the mix of affection and unrelenting possessiveness – or simply because he was trying to work out if he could retort angrily and get away with it. Harry decided to head off any silly defiance: he didn’t want to punish Spike. He wanted to fuck him.
He sat back, kneeling between Spike’s legs, and spread him. The sight of his glistening hole, reddened and open, had him groaning. Then he felt a cool hand on his cock.
He looked at Spike. The blond was blinking shyly and smiling. “Let me slick you up?”
Harry grinned, and handed him the lube.
Spike’s long fingers worked smoothly over his cock. Harry watched his face: the mouth slightly open, the eyes intent. Then Spike tweaked the head of his cock wickedly, and Harry groaned. He moved over Spike with a growl and pushed into the exquisite tightness in one long, smooth thrust.
They moaned simultaneously at the feeling: tight, cool flesh sliding slickly around him, or burning hotness pushing into him, taking him. It took all Harry’s self-control not to just thrust blindly until he came inside Spike: the thought of marking him a scent the vampire would smell all day sent base arousal flashing through him. But he groped for control and found it; fucking Spike slowly, he watched his face. God, the way his eyes were so tightly shut, long black lashes against pale skin; the way his pouty lips went slack at Harry’s more powerful thrusts; the way he panted unnecessarily as Harry fucked him...
Then Spike’s eyes opened and their gazes met. The connection was sizzling with lust, but staring into Spike’s blue eyes sent other emotions entirely through Harry’s heart. He raised a hand and stroked it over Spike’s lower lip; Spike was blinking at him, confused.
Suddenly confused himself, Harry diffused the moment the best way he knew how: he fucked harder. His hands came down on Spike’s wrists to hold him down, and he shut his eyes and just moved, loving the feel of Spike’s channel and the way the slick muscle was forced to accommodate his cock, his taking.
“God...” Spike groaned. “God, I’ve got to come.” His cock was already so red it looked painful after the denial of last night. Harry considered letting him wank off, watching him work himself desperately... but that wouldn’t be nearly so fun.
“What makes you think I’m going to let you come, Spike?” he asked silkily, thrusting leisurely into the vampire. “Do you think you’ve earned it?”
He hit Spike’s prostate right then, and the resulting moan was pleading, broken as Spike’s breath caught. “Oh God, Harry come on, fuck...”
“That’s what we’re doing.” He lowered his head, hair brushing lightly over Spike’s skin, and caught a pink nipple in his teeth. He tugged at it and Spike moaned again, his back arching, pressing his chest to Harry’s mouth. Harry kept playing, biting and sucking, until Spike’s nipple was shiny with saliva and reddened with abuse. And all the time he kept up his leisurely fucking, relentlessly driving Spike towards the brink, and didn’t even brush his cock.
“Come on,” Spike said, voice unsteady. “This is very nice an’ all, but I want to get off.”
“And I asked you,” Harry said, dark voice curling round the words like a snake round silk, “if you think you’ve earned it.”
“I – I got you off yesterday, didn’t I?"
The pleading expression on Spike’s face, the helpless, entreating look of his eyes, the desperate pleading for relief, knowing it wouldn’t happen unless Harry let it, knowing he belonged to Harry – All of it fused in Harry’s head and then exploded like a firework, lights sparking in his vision as he came.
He opened his eyes to find Spike staring up at him with a despairing expression. “Harry, Harry it hurts!” He obviously thought he wasn’t going to be allowed to come, now Harry had found his pleasure. But his sweet begging was just too lovely not to reward.
Harry grinned down wickedly into Spike’s face, raised to him like a flower towards the sun. Then he dropped and drew Spike’s petal-soft, granite-hard cock into his mouth in one movement.
Spike howled, his hips jerking uncontrollably against Harry’s benevolent mouth. Harry sucked hard, pressing his tongue to the slit and flicking it over the head, wanting Spike to have an orgasm worth the wait. If the noises he was making were any indication, the blowjob would do it: it was in fact the best blowjob in the history of time. But it could still be better: Harry relaxed his throat, and swallowed Spike’s cock.
It only took three thrusts before Spike was coming, come shooting from his cock while he howled, his entire body rigid. He came, and came, leaving Harry’s throat raw. Finally he was finished; when Harry pulled back, he saw to his amusement (and not a little masculine pride) that Spike was unconscious: his body was absolutely limp, his face still.
Harry disengaged himself with a wince: he wanted to stay here, fucking Spike and stroking Spike and enjoying Spike, but he wasn’t going to be able to take care of his vampire if he lost his job.
...What?
When had he started thinking that way? When had calling Spike ‘mine’ gone from something that got Harry hot in bed, to something that affected his ‘real’ life? More than that, when had he decided it was his job to take care of Spike?
But then who else was there? And certainly somebody had to take care of him: he didn’t seem to be any good at doing it himself. He was unable to defend himself, he was rash and impulsive... he was fucking hot, and Harry was going to make sure no harm came to that beautiful body and endearing personality. He wasn’t finished with him yet, after all.
Harry showered and dressed quietly – no time for breakfast. He checked on Spike once more before he left for work; opening his bedroom door, a smile he was helpless to stop broke over his face. The vampire was lying exactly where he had been when Harry left him. His legs were bent up awkwardly and his arms were strewn on the pillow, but his face was peaceful.
Harry smiled indulgently and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll come and see you later,” he whispered to the sleeping vampire. Then he ran a gentle, propietary hand down Spike’s chest, and left as quietly as he could.
~*~
Spike once again gave thanks for the static nature of the wizarding community. He’d seen little of it while in England – being born without magic, and then under the thumb of a patriarch who considered magic users to be dangerous creatures best avoided. Angelus’ declaration had, of course, made seeing the wizarding community unbelievably tempting for the young William, and he’d run off to Diagon Alley the moment he was left alone. His subsequent thrashing had left him in agony and unable to move while the other three attended parties. Still, Spike now knew exactly where Knockturn Alley was and that it was a ready source of human blood: on balance, he thought it was worth it.
He nodded at the butcher as the man handed him his brown paper bag, filled with bottles of blood. He was one of the creepier specimens Spike had encountered down this alley, with dark, stringy hair and filthy robes. His ‘buy two, get one half-price’ offer on human ears was a little disquieting, too.
“Oi! Who’re you then?”
Spike turned, and his lip turned up in an instinctive sneer. Three young men – boys, really, they looked younger than Harris and even less competent – had just swaggered into the shop. One of them, a freckled redhead, came forward with a matching sneer.
“Go on, then,” he said. “What’s in the bag?”
Spike gave him a contemptuous scowl and shoved past. Tried to, anyway – the redhead and his mate, a black man with dreadlocks, got in the way. Spike glared and tried not to notice the prickling awareness of the chip and the fact that English wizards always carried wands; he also studiously ignored the humiliating fact that he was shorter than both of them.
“None of your business, mate. What do you care what a bloke likes to buy when he’s shopping?” Spike spoke with forced casualness.
“We don’t know what you might be buying,” the third youth said coolly. “You might be a dark wizard buying human body parts for your spells. Who knows what people like you put in their cauldrons?”
“I’m not a wizard at all, mate,” Spike said. “I don’t do spells, with human body parts or not – too many consequences.” The sight of a dead-eyed Buffy fighting, then fucking him with such desperation, flashed across his mind’s eye and he swallowed. Affecting nonchalance, he turned to look at the butcher without giving the boys his back. “Wanna talk to these boys giving your valued customers a hard time?”
“No point,” the man hissed, backing further behind the counter. “Wannabe heroes like these puffed-up little Griffin-doors never listen to men like me. It ruins their sense of moral righteousness.”
Spike raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.” He hadn’t understood any of that, except for the fact that he was on his own.
He faced the youths again, deliberately keeping his face and eyes hard. But then he’d been doing that the whole time he’d been in Knockturn Alley, not being a complete idiot, and it hadn’t stopped these wankers bothering him. It certainly didn’t bother them now: they were pressing closer, invading Spike’s personal space. Then, to Spike’s utter outrage, the black boy poked rudely at his hair.
“You a wannabe Mal-foi or something?”
Spike didn’t understand the word, but he knew it was an insult. He snarled and lost his rag, going into gameface with a furious growl just as one of the other bastards, poking at his brown bag, succeeded in seeing the blood inside.
“Vampire!”
All three of them piled backwards, retreating in a chaotic, stumbling rush. Spike felt a moment of screaming triumph at their fear, feeling at the top of the food chain as he hadn’t since before the chip – then the little bleeders stopping retreating, and raised their wands. Spike recognised the expressions on their faces from a thousand fights against and alongside the Scoobies. They were scared, but they fancied themselves heroes and they weren’t going to run.
Got to get out. It’s just a shame they’re so near the door.
Spike’s adrenaline-laced thoughts raced, while the youths panted and tried to work up the courage to attack – or maybe just tried to remember if there was a ‘staking vampires’ spell.
Aha.
He began to advance on the wizards – very slowly, so they wouldn’t panic. His swagger and the slow curl of his lips into a predator’s grin set their hearts beating ever faster: Spike’s nose was full of the stink of fear, with top notes of bravado.
“It’s been a while since I had human blood straight from the tap,” he said slowly, feeling his demon rise still further at this truth. “And you all seem to have volunteered yourselves for the duty.” Spike caught one wizard starting to mouth a spell, and growled. The boy flinched.
“You smell good,” he continued, getting closer. He was channelling every menacing, cliched speech he’d ever heard Angelus or horror-film villains say. “That fear – ” he let his tongue flick out from behind his fangs, like a snake tasting the air. “Delicious.”
Crap! One of the boys was aiming his wand and he wasn’t going to stop. Spike dropped the blood and dove, slamming out through the shop door before the idiot boys knew what’d hit ’em. In an instant he was up again and running, racing for his life down the cobbled street and howling with frustrated bloodlust, even as he laughed inwardly at the wizards’ defeat and outran them with blissful ease.
~*~
Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed. The paperwork for his current case was giving him a headache: investigating financial fraud involved a lot of forms, not to speak of arguing with the Gringotts goblins over whether he should be allowed to see financial records. Somehow they just didn’t seem to realise that –
A sudden commotion outside broke Harry from his thoughts. Thankful for the distraction, he left his cubicle to find Auror Team B, of five people, rushing around yelling to each other. He buttonholed one of the younger Aurors, Smithers, who was staring at them too. “What’s going on?”
Smithers jumped. She was still at that Oh-wow-it’s-Harry-Potter stage, but no doubt she’d get past the awe once she’d seen his reaction to the coffee running out. “There’s been a vampire sighting, Mr Potter,” she said breathlessly. “In Knockturn Alley. He was buying blood, and he threatened some kids who asked him what he was doing.”
Harry’s expression made Smithers squeak and back away.
“Tell me, Smithers,” Harry said grimly. “What did this vampire look like?”
~*~
Spike sprawled in front of the telly when he got back and opened a beer: nothing else to drink now the bastards had lost him his blood. He glared at the screen, kicking sulkily at the carpet. Neighbours just didn’t have the right vibe for a vampire’s sulk. For God’s sake, it didn’t even have Eastenders’ bodycount.
Suddenly there came a volley of sharp raps at the door. Usually this would be a welcome distraction (if only for the novelty value – Spike hadn’t had someone actually knock since he’d set up in Sunnydale). But Spike could guess who it was, and his reaction to Spike’s little adventure would no doubt be ‘less than pleased’.
The knocks kept coming and Spike could actually feel Harry getting angrier: the smell of it was coming from the hall. Harry wasn’t giving up. Spike studiously ignored the part of himself that liked that, that was flattered at how bothered Harry was and that felt a naughty little thrill at the thought of Harry’s anger.
He’d better open the door. Because – because he wasn’t going away, and the noise was getting annoying.
He stamped over to the door and threw it open. Predictably, there stood Harry, tall and dark and angry, his green eyes glowing with emotion. His lips were tight. The moment the door was fully open, Harry stepped past him Spike into the little hall.
Spike swallowed, turning to face him; then he lifted his chin. “What?” he snarled. “Come to tell me I’ve been a naughty boy?”
“Yes,” Harry said calmly. His green eyes were cool and implacable as marble.
Spike snarled something – even he didn’t know what – and tried to shoulder past, back to his telly and Ramsay Street. Before he’d gone a foot Harry had grabbed his biceps and swung him round, slamming him up against the wall. It should have been like Buffy doing it – God knows he was used to hero-types smacking him around – but it wasn’t, and not just because Harry was tall and broad and dark, somehow becoming the whole world while Buffy was the bright light illuminating it. Because whatever Harry’s wants or needs, he wasn’t desperate or clinging on, brittle instead of strong. He didn’t forget that Spike had feelings, whatever his lack of a soul. He didn’t forget that Spike needed things, too.
Spike relaxed into the hold automatically, though he could feel his eyes still flaring with the old gold of the demon’s gaze.
“Now look, Spike. I told you to keep your head down, and I told you why you needed to do it. The Aurors are aware of you now, they’re looking for you. I’ll make sure they don’t arrest you, but for fuck’s sake, Spike – getting into a fight with three wizards isn’t keeping your head down.”
Spike pouted. Unfortunately, it didn’t work like it usually had with Angelus to get him out of trouble. “Wasn’t my fault,” he protested. “The wankers started with me, not the other way round.”
Harry raised a sceptical black brow. “And you just calmly walked away, did you?” Spike glared, going hot all over with embarrassment and lust at the thought that his foibles were exposed, that Harry knew him so well already. “I don’t want to hear about you at work again, Spike.” Finally Harry stepped away, but Spike knew better than to move from his position, flat against the wall. Harry reached out and curled a hand over Spike’s nape, pulling his head down a little. “You’re being punished for this.”
Spike shuddered a little in his grip, but he didn’t fight. He hadn’t come to London looking for someone to belong to, but he seemed to have found him anyway. He let Harry lead him, hand still on the back of his neck, to the old armchair. Harry sat down on it, and patted his lap. “Come on. Take the duster off and pull your jeans down – it’s a spanking for you.”
Spike’s lips tightened at the indignity, but he remembered what had happened the last time he disobeyed. Taking off the duster actually helped: there went Spike, there went the attitude and the shell. Pulling down his jeans, though; that was different. Harry was eyeing his arse like he was salivating, and it was awkward as hell trying to position himself over Harry’s knees with his jeans round his thighs.
But that was the point, wasn’t it? Making him feel awkward, and embarrassed. God, there was nothing quite like the indignity of being over someone’s lap, arse raised for some well-deserved slaps. He wriggled a little on Harry’s lap, pressing his hot face into the arm of the chair.
To Spike’s surprise, Harry didn’t immediately get stuck into spanking him, the way Angelus always had. Instead, he started rubbing his arse, smoothing his warm hand over the skin, rubbing fingers softly into his cleft. Spike moaned softly, loving the soft handling, even as Harry’s iron voice chastised him.
“I told you specifically not to get in trouble with the Aurors, Spike. Not even a week and you’ve already disobeyed me. I’m disappointed in you. I thought you’d do better, but apparently I was wrong. You’re going to learn.”
Spike squirmed a little, breath catching at Harry’s tone. He felt a tendril of fear work its way through his heart: and some guilt, too. He tried to tell himself off sternly for this Pavlovian reaction, but then –
Smack. Harry’s warm, hard hand came down on his bare right arse cheek. Spike jumped at the bright, hot flare of pain: Harry’s soft touches had left his skin so sensitised that even one hard slap had him biting his lip. And Harry didn’t stop there.
At first he enjoyed it: spanking was just right for the sort of pleasure-pain he enjoyed most. Harry’s hard hand came down, and down again, repetitive, strong strokes; Spike hardened quickly and was soon left thrusting against Harry’s hard thigh with each blow. Each spank sent heat flaring through him.
But then Harry began to speak, and his tone made it impossible to forget that this was not for fun.
“You will never disobey me again. If you do, I’ll punish you.” He swatted Spike’s arse at each word, humiliating him with the lighter, almost contemptuous touches. But then the spanks hardened again, and they kept coming, and Spike wished to God they would stop.
“How dare you defy me, Spike? If I give you orders they’re for a good reason!” And after that Harry stopped talking, just spanked him and spanked him and spanked him, until Spike’s arse and thighs were burning and he was sure they must be so red and he was sniffling into the cloth and writhing under each blow and wailing at the hurt and his cock was so hard it was dripping.
Finally, Harry slowed, and stopped. Spike lay limply over his knees, damp face against his trousers, and panted. Harry’s fingers were trailing over his burning arse cheeks; Spike whined at the heat.
“Get up.”
Spike went limp for a moment in relief, then struggled up.
“Right, over my lap the other way.”
He laughed at Spike’s expression. “Did you think that was the end of it? Oh no, my boy, you’re going to learn good and well not to defy me. So you’ll lie over my knee in the other direction, and my left hand can have a go at spanking obedience into you.”
Spike whined and lay down, feeling horribly exposed as Harry took the opportunity, first, to strip his t-shirt and jeans from him. Then the hand came down again, reigniting the pain in his arse and thighs, knowing so exactly where to smack for the greatest pain – oh, that spot where his arse met his thighs was aching – this had to stop.
“Please stop, Harry,” he snivelled, trying to sound beaten down: which wasn’t hard, considering how he was feeling. “Please, I’m sorry.”
The spanking paused, and Spike felt a moment of hope before –
Smack!
The spanks were harder than any before, crashing down on his poor arse, and Spike cried out.
“Don’t you dare try to trick me, brat. Do it again and we’ll try a cane.”
The swats kept coming, and Spike was really crying now, and he couldn’t stop his feet kicking like some fucking kid and then it stopped.
After a moment, he dared to glance up.
“I’m sorry, Spike. But it’s for your own good.”
Spike snorted wetly. “I’ve heard that before.”
“Spike, what do you think would happen if the Aurors arrested you? You have to learn to obey me – in this more than anything else, because if you don’t you’ll get hurt. Don’t let that happen, Spike.”
The undeniable emotion in Harry’s voice made Spike pause. Harry really was worried for him; he didn’t want him to be hurt. And that made his spirits rise so high that he didn’t care, for a moment, how much his arse was aching.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I won’t do it again. Really.” He sniffed, and managed to choke back the remaining tears.
And then he felt hands on his body, and they weren’t hurting him this time: they lifted him and helped him settle, sitting on Harry’s lap, facing him. He gave a little grunt of pain when his arse came down, shifting; Harry chuckled.
“Sorry I’ve been such a wanker,” he said sincerely, meeting Harry’s eyes. “I didn’t... I’m not used to this. To people actually meaning it when they say they’re spanking me for my own good.”
Harry smiled, amused. “I know.” His big warm hands were rubbing soothingly up Spike’s back, and he couldn’t decided if it was more comforting or arousing. “I know it’s been hard. But I’m not like that.” A hand went to Spike’s chin, raising it. “I wouldn’t blow up your home. I’ll be your home, if you’ll let me.”
Spike moaned, helplessly, at the words: the words that seemed to soothe his non-existent soul, that filled up spaces emptied by all the different creatures who’d hurt him. He leant in for the kiss, diving into it, never wanting to come up for air. Their lips slid together and their tongues tangled; Spike gave a small, broken moan when he felt Harry’s lubricated fingers brush against his hole. He raised his arse, giving implicit permission, and moaned into Harry’s mouth as he was lovingly prepared.
Then Harry’s warm hands were on his thighs, lifting him up. Spike sat himself slowly on Harry’s cock, biting his lower lip at the strain of stretching for it even as their eyes stayed locked. When he’d managed it, he started moving. He fucked himself, loving Harry’s hard cock inside him and the way Harry’s hands were free to touch him; loving that now, he couldn’t stop Harry from skating his hands over his body, or squeezing his burning arse. Harry’s hands came down, holding his hips tightly and controlling his motion; Spike flung back his head, gasping, as he was slowly drawn down Harry’s cock, body shuddering at the prostate stimulation. Then one warm hand went to the small of his back, fingers splayed, keeping him close and safe.
Spike kept moving, and felt Harry start to fuck back as much as he could, pushing his cock still further inside. “You’re gonna be mine, now,” Harry muttered. “Can you smell me after I’m gone, Spike? Can other vampires smell my mark on you?”
“Yes, yes,” Spike moaned against his neck, squirming as Harry tugged his nipples. “They all know... know I’m yours...”
“And you know? Know that you’re mine to fuck, mine to suck, mine to keep and stroke and punish and hurt, know you’ll never fight me because I’ll look after you? Know that you belong to me?”
“I... I...” Spike was panting, eyes glazed; he couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, too overwhelmed by everything that was happening to reply. Then Harry squeezed his arse and clamped down on his neck, and he was sucking and squeezing and fucking owning Spike and it was all he could do to howl “yes!” before he was –
Coming, untouched, and the world was turning white and he was clenching around Harry’s cock and it was so good, and then Harry toppled after him and they collapsed together, breathing onto each other’s neck and slicking sweat over each other and holding close, Spike feeling small and safe and sleepy on Harry’s lap.
Then Harry did something Spike had never imagined he would do. He tipped his head back, myopic green eyes intense on him. “So, my Spike... are you hungry?”
Spike felt his eyes go wide. “I – I – ”
“You must be. You lost that blood you bought, didn’t you? And you’re mine to take care of. So feed from me.”
Spike made an unidentifiable sound: half helpless moan, half predatory growl, and buried his face in Harry’s neck.
The moment he tasted Harry’s blood was... indescribable. He’d never drunk a wizard’s blood before, not once in his entire existence, and it was... fuck. It was like swimming in tequila, it was like spinning in a star, it was having such creative, destructive power singing inside him and ringing in his ears. And the taste of it; the pride and possession and lust and love Harry was feeling, and all for him. He pressed closer, plastered to Harry’s chest, sucking and sucking and hearing himself making “mmm” sounds. Harry was stroking his hair, sending shivers down his spine, and fuck even Slayer’s blood hadn’t been like this.
He had to force himself to stop.
Finally he pulled off, licking his fangs to get the last of the blood before retracting them. “That was...”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Spike found himself being moved; Harry was standing and leading him to the bedroom. His head was fuzzy with orgasm and blood, and he let Harry take him by the hand, and lay him on the bed. When he was properly conscious again, the afterglow dying down, he was in his bed on his side, Harry facing him, and both of them equally naked.
Spike blinked sleepily, smiling when Harry did. Harry’s smile was indulgent, and his intense green eyes were soft. He reached out to touch Spike’s hair, and Spike even managed not to be embarrassed by the poodle foofiness.
“Hey, shouldn’t you be runnin’ off about now?” he said, voice going slow and slurred with tiredness. “Not that I want you to or anything, but don’t you have your hero duties ta be goin’ about?”
“No,” he said quietly. “Heroic duty’s not all it’s cracked up to be. You’re important too, Spike. And I’d rather do you than my duty any day.”
Spike snorted with laughter, and shut his eyes to better concentrate on the feeling of Harry’s long fingers stroking over his scalp. A purr began working its way up his throat.
“Besides, I’ve got a duty to you too. This is what vampire families do, isn’t it – sleep together during the day?”
“Yeah.” Spike felt warmth curling through his belly, like the heat of virgin’s blood. “You my new family, then?”
“I am if you want to play Daddy with me.” Harry reached out and tugged Spike into his arms. Spike made irritable little sounds at being moved, but let Harry arrange him as he liked: having his head on Harry’s shoulder, his own shoulders encircled by Harry’s strong arm, was nice, anyway. “You belong with me now. You know that, don’t you?”
Spike nestled closer, with a murmured not-answer. Declarations of love had never worked out for him well in the past; much better to stick to being a man of action, like Harry. He pressed a small kiss to Harry’s neck, and felt Harry’s arms tighten.
He drifted off to sleep in the grasp of Harry’s warm, immovable embrace.
FIN
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no subject
Date: 2008-07-15 10:54 am (UTC)*comes back on the chair and fans herself*
After this i had a cold, cold, cold shower.
I usually don't read Dom!Harry but this , my girl, really, really was worth it.
I love Harry's spanking, i love Spike submission. I loved EVERYTHING.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-16 05:28 am (UTC)*smirks* I'm here to provide the porn, ladies.
I usually don't read Dom!Harry but this , my girl, really, really was worth it.
Thank you! *laughs evilly* Soon you will be one of us...
I loved EVERYTHING.
*glee* Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2008-07-15 01:37 pm (UTC)But still...damn. I love how Spike is just so incredibly sweet and adorable and Harry is completely in control but still so, so much Harry with the feeding and the family and the sleeping together during the day.
And do I even need to point out how mind-searingly hot this was????? *makes mad dash for cold shower*
no subject
Date: 2008-07-16 05:30 am (UTC)In that case, extra points for being brave enough to try a cross-over. I know they're sort of associated with the Pit of Voles! I'm so glad you liked the characterisation, especially my all-grown-up Harry.
And do I even need to point out how mind-searingly hot this was?????
*laughs* Well, I certainly appreciate it! Thanks for the comment.
Yay! Bondage cake for you!
Date: 2008-07-15 04:03 pm (UTC)The only thing hotter (maybe) than the orgasm denial is Spike begging to come the next day. I loved Harry's thought process - he could just let Spike wank, but what's the fun in that? Why give in when he can push Spike further, tease him more, get him that much more desperate? And the moment after Harry comes, where Spike thinks he might not be allowed to because Harry's had his fun - oh, yes. I loved that moment of complete despair and desperation - even more so when Spike wasn't going to fight it, he was just going to take it. Again. Fuck, that's hot.
I know this is mostly porn without plot, but I loved all the moments where Spike thinks about Buffy and magic and compares what he knew about them to what Harry is. I love that he sees magic from a very dark and distrusting point of view, and that he's wary of hero-types. The moments where he doesn't trust Harry - wants him, but doesn't trust him - are incredibly real, even if this is just someone's pervy little fantasy.
Speaking of pervy little fantasies.... random spanking, anyone? *laughs* No, it wasn't all that random actually, I like that after all that, Harry still had to convince Spike that he wasn't just taking his fill and leaving all thoughts of the vampire behind. Plus, it was super hot - Spike thinking the spanking is over, and Harry telling him to flip around because he wants to spank Spike until both his hands are sore. Yum!
And oh fucking christ if I didn't love it when Spike came untouched while Harry bit his neck. That was just the cherry on top of an otherwise completely amazing fic. Sorry for the ridiculously long, squeeful comment(s), but good kink deserves a good comment! (and I want to encourage more orgasm denial writing in the future, of course) Wonderful work, love!
Re: Yay! Bondage cake for you!
Date: 2008-07-16 06:01 am (UTC)I love that he sees magic from a very dark and distrusting point of view, and that he's wary of hero-types.
Why does characterisation keep slipping itself into my porn?! *wails* And then they were having deep feelings, and - I just wanted a very long PWP!
No, seriously, I'm really pleased you liked that bit. Spike's reaction to a magical Chosen One, after season six Buffy and Willow, has to be mistrusting even if it's also lustful.
random spanking, anyone? *laughs* No, it wasn't all that random actually
Oh it SO was. I decided there would be spanking, and inserted plot to make it happen after the fact. *is shameless* I love that you liked Spike thinking it was over - that gave me so much glee when I thought of it. Ha, watch me crush the vampire's hopes!
And do not EVER be sorry for your long, squeeful comments. They make me so happy! And your general awesome encourages orgasm denial, don't worry.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-15 08:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-16 05:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-16 05:05 pm (UTC)Hugs,
Aery
no subject
Date: 2008-07-17 05:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-17 05:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-17 05:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-31 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-03 09:02 pm (UTC)WoW!
Date: 2009-03-02 06:25 pm (UTC)The way you described it, it made perfect sense, as if it had been planned somehow in cannon.
Now, I must leave you, as I am in dire need of a cold shower...;)
Re: WoW!
Date: 2009-09-01 12:23 pm (UTC)