For Jasonsnene: Riley, Large and in charge
I don't know what gets into me on these "ficlets" lately, but dang! The long-winded bug has attacked.
This is my mod challenge for darling jasonsnene who asked me for "Spike/Riley, with Riley large and in charge".
WELL! I made darn sure soldier-boy was in charge, honey.
Warnings: Explicit mansex. Also vague attempts at a plot. Takes place post-After the Fall, using AtF comics canon but not Buffy s8 canon because I didn't read up to the point where Riley shows up so I'm ignoring it. :P
Boots pelted up and down the quiet streets, echoing on the hard surfaces of closed buildings. Riley motioned two guys from the squad to check out another alleyway as they passed it. What they were searching for, they weren’t sure, but they had all the equipment and experience necessary.
Something had happened in LA., headquarters was certain of that. The science types talked of ‘signatures’ and ‘massive pulses’, but so far all Riley had seen was Los Angeles, big and empty after hours. A hooker shied away as they approached, giving them dirty looks. She read clean on the monitors. If anything, the city was quieter than the last time Riley had seen it. They passed two closed bars before they found one open. Dimico stopped just south of the entrance and waved Riley over.
“Sir, we have two room temperatures inside.”
Riley sighed, looking at the display showing x-ray overlaid on heat - two bodies in the bar moving about without the tell-tale orange glow of humanity. “Vampires. Central Command is talking like this city must have vaporized and re-built itself over night, but all we can find is a couple of vampires out drinking.”
Dimico smirked. “Let’s not get too blasé. I mean, these are monsters, sir.”
Dimico was new. Riley holstered his gun and took the wooden stake out of his back pocket. “Continue scanning, coordinate with Singh. I’ll take care of these two.”
“Alone, sir?”
It was Riley’s turn to smirk. He turned on his heel and pointed the stake, blunt-end first, at Dimico. “I’ll be out in twenty. Keep moving west.”
Patrons looked up from their beers as Riley entered the bar. Mildly shocked expressions: it was the flack jacket more than anything. More often than not on this mission, they were asked if they were filming a movie.
One head at the bar didn’t look up or back, and it was situated just to the left of the end of the bar, right where the hostile was seen on the scanner. And even from the back, was instantly recognizable. “Oh no. Not you!”
Slicked-back platinum dyed hair turned to show an arched, dark eyebrow. “Well, if it isn’t soldier boy!”
Riley shifted his stance, irritated and trying desperately to pick out the other hostile in the bar before he was irrevocably distracted. Southwest corner. He turned, back to Spike. (It wasn’t like Hostile 17 was a problem, was it? Intelligence still put him firmly on the ‘good guy’ side of things.)
An older woman, smoking a cigarette and twiddling a paper coaster, sat alone in the southwest corner. “Hey, big guy,” she said, eyes roving appreciatively as he approached.
“Nothing personal,” he said, and plunged the stake into her heart.
He turned to find the whole room now very attentive on him. He coughed and wiped the dust off his arm. “We’re, uh, filming a movie.”
“What did you have to go do that for?” A man jumped up from an adjacent table. “Fuckin’ vampire hunters. Like Laurie was hurting anybody!” He snatched his windbreaker off the back of his chair and stormed out into the street.
A guy at the bar turned back to his drink with a muttered, “Asshole.”
“You’ve got a lot to learn about LA, mate.” Spike hooked Riley’s elbow and turned toward the door. “Come on, you’re lowering the respectability of the establishment.”
Riley tugged his arm free. “What are you doing here, Spike?”
Spike glanced at the empty table behind them before saying, “The same thing Laurie was doing.”
Riley frowned, not liking the ambiguity. “Soliciting for blood money?”
“No, you absolute berk. Having a beer.” Spike tossed up one hand. “You know what? Don’t take my advice. Enjoy pissing off the locals. They’re a forgiving bunch, after the whole trip to hell and back.”
Spike pushed his way out the street door with his shoulder, hands hooked in his belt to exaggerate his swagger.
All around the bar, hostile faces stared at Riley. He tucked his stake back into his pocket and followed Spike out.
Dimico trotted right up to Riley. “Unbelievable. That wasn’t even five minutes! Are the hostiles…?”
“Keep sweeping. This one’s not hostile. At least, not in the official sense of the word.”
Spike stopped his saunter in the middle of the street. He glanced up, left, and then to the right, down the street, and Riley realized he was picking out the squad, letting him know he knew the tactical situation. “Do you pillocks have any idea what has happened to this city? Or is Uncle Sam meddling about blind as usual?”
One of the privates took a step out from the alleyway he was standing in. Riley held up a hand to hold him off. “We’re here to investigate a paranormal energy surge in this location. If you know anything about that, Spike, now’s a good time to talk.”
Spike curled his lip. “If you want to find out about Hell-A’s little trip there and back again, you’re going to have to lose the glee club, mate. I don’t talk to large groups of soldiers. Bad for my health.” He raised both eyebrows, and two fingers, and turned his back on Riley, walking briskly up the street.
“Sir?”
Riley shook his head. “I’ll handle it. Singh, you’re in charge, continue the sweep. We’ll reconvene at HQ at 0500.”
Spike didn’t look behind him, not once, as Riley tailed him down one block and over two. At the next corner after that stood a gas station, lit up bright as the surface of the moon. Spike stopped there, his head reflecting like a beacon, and lit a cigarette. He blew smoke at Riley. “Look at you: large and in charge. ‘Reconvene at oh five hundred’!” Spike laughed at his own approximation of Riley’s accent and took another hit off the cigarette.
“I don’t have time for games, Spike. What happened to the city?”
To his surprise, Spike lost the bravado. He looked grimly at the gum-splattered pavement and shook his head. “It’s not a pretty story, nor a quick one, and there’s no satisfying lesson to it.” He glanced up at Riley, head tilted. “Anyway, there’s fuck-all you can do about it, so I suggest rounding up the boy scouts and telling the pricks in charge you searched really hard, by golly, and found nothing.”
Riley folded his arms and looked down steadily at the vampire. “I can’t do that.”
“You’re going to have to.” Spike gestured widely with his cigarette. “This thing is past tense, now. City’s back to normal. Well, normal as this town gets, anyway.” He shrugged and started walking again. “Maybe most folks feel a stronger sense of community, but that’s balanced out by more fuckin’ crazies. Really, the whole thing is a wash. ‘Cept for Wes, I suppose.” He shook his head again.
“Spike!” Riley held his ground as the vampire continued to saunter away. “The American people deserve to know what happened here.”
Spike spun on one heel to shrug back at Riley. “Not my country.”
“If you don’t volunteer information, I’ll have no choice but to consider you hostile and take action.”
Spike continued walking backwards. “Always have been hostile, mate. What are you going to do? Put another chip in my brain?”
Riley huffed a short breath out his nose, nodded once, and made a motion like throwing something. Spike flinched, and then fell to the ground, shaking. Riley shook his head again and started winding up the cord. “No,” he said, “I’ll use my taser.”
***
Spike awoke to a splitting headache - which was, rather, his usual wake-up call lately. But he didn’t feel hung over. He blinked confusedly at the surroundings until vague green-grey blobs resolved into a completely unfamiliar room.
There was a metallic squeak and he looked down. His hand was cuffed to the edge of a metal cot, which complained with his every motion. A perfectly tucked blanket of scratchy wool lay under him, too. He looked up to find Riley standing in what was practically parade rest at the foot of the bed. “Good. That was just about when you should have recovered.”
Spike gave him a hateful look. “Good to know I’m in expert hands.”
“Vampires aren’t complicated, Spike. In good health, the reaction times are pretty uniform. You’re doing well.”
“Woke up a little early, did I?”
Riley shrugged. “About four seconds late. But you always did sleep in.”
Riley had the same calm, vaguely friendly face, even with a scar on it now, a little older. Spike jerked his wrist to make the metal cuff jingle. “This doesn’t intimidate me, Opie. I was recently in a hell dimension where I had to work my way up from prisoner to slave to prisoner with benefits.” He tilted his head, as though fondly remembering, “Then to lord, then prisoner again…”
The mattress dipped as Riley planted his fists on it. “How about you stick to the facts my superiors will find relevant, and remember that this government condones torture?”
“If you really want to disturb me, talk about your sex life.” Spike glanced derisively around the small room, walls of cinder block in institutional green, obviously Riley’s private quarters. “Smells like Rosy Palm’s the only one who’s gotten any action in here since the building was built.”
“You said you went to hell. Who sent you there, and why?”
“What happened to that special ops bird you had? She looked like a goer.”
Riley didn’t move from his position, fists planted on either side of Spike’s feet. “We’re not here to talk about me.”
“What, your tiny government-issue cock not enough for her?”
“How many people were sent to hell? Was it the whole city? A part of it?”
“Now me, on the other hand, I’ve been getting so much trim my dick is actually sore. Seriously, mate, never try to keep a god-king happy. Or an army of warrior women. I set a bad example with Spider. You give in to one and they all want a piece, and I’m not made of metal, here.”
“Spike!” Riley shook the bed. “I’m not kidding around here. Start being useful or it’s not going to be a plastic stake this time.”
Spike sighed, leaning back and shifting his shoulders to try and get comfortable. “All you’ve done is kid around, mate. I told you: there’s nothing to tell. It’s all over, and no one’s to blame.” He bit his lower lip, looking off to the side. “At least, not entirely.”
Riley leaned further, face over Spike’s midsection now. He pushed the mattress again. “What did you do?”
“What I always do.” His head fell to rest on the small government-issue pillow. “Follow the hero into battle.”
“The hero? Buffy? Was Buffy here?” Riley was starting to fume.
Spike wrinkled his brow. “No, not Buffy. As if I’d tell you who it was. You did hear that ‘hero’ bit, didn’t you?”
Riley rocked forward, just a bit, then pushed off the bed to stand. “So it’s Angel.”
“What? That’s…”
“Obviously true, by your reaction.” Riley raised one eyebrow fractionally, his only concession to smug as he turned to pace. “Last reports had you working with him, and for no discernable compensation. Kind of makes me wonder if you’ve changed teams.”
“Piss off. I’ve been one of the white hats for years now!”
Riley smiled and knocked his fists together. “That’s, er, not what I meant.”
“Thought you boys didn’t ask and didn’t tell.”
“Could you answer a question? Any question? Or are you trying to get beat up?”
Spike sighed, long and low. He closed his eyes. “Angel attacked some nasties that were a bit out of his league. They sent the whole city to hell. Which was as advertised. A lot of unpleasant things occurred, but eventually we were able to bring the city back, as it was the moment we left.” He opened his eyes. “All the scars are on the inside. So you see, there really is less than nothing you can do, and all the green paint in the world isn’t going to change that.”
“We could see Angel punished for what he did.”
Spike jerked his arm sharply. The chain on the cuff broke with a quiet “snick” and he jumped to his feet. The broken handcuff dangled, catching and smearing blood as he pointed at Riley. “Angel has suffered enough. You don’t know anything about him.”
“I know he’s an asshole.”
Spike nodded. “All right, you know a little about him. But I’m saying leave the poor, sad old bastard alone. Damage is done.”
“He thought he could make decisions for Buffy, and now he thinks he can make decisions for the whole of Los Angeles. When does it stop?”
“When you let it go, mate.” Spike took a step blithely back and raised his hand, jiggling the broken cuff. “Thanks for the bondage fantasy and all, but I’ve got to run.”
“I can’t let you do that.” Riley’s hand closed on Spike’s bicep as he turned to go.
“Not giving you the choice. Still a vampire.”
Riley peered, earnestly confused. “Why are you defending him?”
“Didn’t come here to get psycho-analyzed.”
Riley dropped his hand. “You didn’t come here at all. I abducted you.”
“And thank you so much for refreshing painful memories.” Spike’s hand landed on Riley’s bicep, mirroring his earlier action. “How I about I drag you to a vamp whorehouse now?”
Riley’s eyelashes fluttered closed, just a second, but it was more than enough for Spike to notice. He let go of Riley like he was hot. “So is that why there’s no Mrs. Government-issue anymore? You’re still hot for fang.”
Riley’s eyes opened, his expression firmed. “No, it’s really not.”
“You have something you want to tell me, soldier-boy?”
Riley opened his mouth, closed it, shrugged with one shoulder, and then nodded. His hand went to the back of Spike’s neck, and before the vampire could pull back in surprise, Riley’s lips were on his, large and firm lips, tasting of clean masculinity. And then he straightened, stepped back. His hand was still on Spike’s nape, his head still tilted down. A long moment passed, during which Spike mostly looked surprised and Riley licked his bottom lip. “No, Spike, I’m not ‘hot for fang'. And by the way? You’re still annoying.” His fingers flexed once, hot and tight on the back of Spike’s neck, and he stepped back. “So tell me again why you’re working with Angel.”
“I’m not.” Spike’s voice squeaked. He swallowed and spoke more calmly, “Not anymore.”
“He dumped you.”
“No!” Spike paced away, gesturing emphatically. “If there was something between me and the poofter, I’d be the one breaking it off.”
“Because you have such a history of being in control in your relationships.”
“And you would know that how?” Spike scowled. “Are you stalking me?”
“It’s my job to keep tabs on supernatural activity in this area, Spike. And you’d be surprised what makes it into your file.” He shrugged again. “You attract attention.”
“From you, for instance,” Spike looked wary.
Riley stepped closer. “I’m not denying it. Seems to me, you switched Buffy for Angel, but the story’s the same; they’re the hero, you’re the sidekick.”
“I’m no one’s bleeding sidekick!”
“But you don’t seem to mind secondary roles, do you? Being supportive." Riley smiled, small and teasing. "Standing by your man.”
“Bollocks! I’m not… he’s not… Angel is a good man! I don’t need to suck his cock to defend him.”
Riley touched Spike’s face, just with his fingertips, tracing the edge of his cheek. “Maybe there’s a better way to convince you to help us.”
Spike shuddered, not sure why he didn’t just flee the room, and took another step back. He was only a foot from the wall, now, and the door was on the other side of the room. But he was the vampire here, wasn’t he? He tilted his head back, sneered with all the bravado he could summon, and said, “Ta, mate, but I’ve had better.”
Riley only smiled, and flattened his hand, so warm and roughened with calluses, against Spike’s cheek. “How about you give me a try and then decide?”
The slick painted wall was suddenly pressing against his back. Spike shook his head. “Wait… woah. Why am I the one retreating?” He took a half-step forward, though Riley didn’t back up and their chests bumped together. “You need to remember who wears the fangs in this room.” Spike rolled his neck, fangs and ridges coming to the fore.
A flash of pink tongue darted out, moistening dry lips, and Riley’s hands grasped Spike’s arms. “All right, maybe I am still hot for fang.” He lowered his face, and fangs melted away just as his lips touched Spike’s. It was just a gentle kiss - maybe Riley was a little disappointed the fangs had vanished. Without moving back, his lips moving against Spike’s, he said, “Now how about you stop pretending you don’t love giving up control.”
The idea, the words, “giving up control” made him shiver, a tiny frisson on his spine, and the broad chest before him, the arms thick with muscle - the, well, frankly this was the largest person ever to try to kiss him, and so Spike found himself, rather to his own surprise, opening up as those lips descended again, and then, much to his delight, those thick arms were encircling him, pulling him flush against a marvelous expanse of muscle thinly covered in fabric.
Riley twisted to the left, breaking away from all-too-reluctant lips to breathe. “Yeah,” he said, “that’s what I thought.”
“Smug git,” Spike replied, though without heat. “Not that I don’t fancy a go, as fucked up as the very idea is, but don’t you have some reconvening to get to?”
Riley’s eyes flicked briefly to the clock on the wall. “At 0500. It’s 0150 now. We have time.” His large hands roamed over Spike’s shoulders, down his back, cupped his ass and lifted him back to his mouth.
Friction and human flesh heated Spike’s jeans as he was raised up, pressed to the wall, and forcefully kissed. No, this would be no problem, for a night. He’d worry about the implications, their past history, and all that bollocks in the morning. He wrapped his legs around the straining body, squeezed, and was rewarded with more heat, more friction, almost burning the rivets off his fly.
And then he hit that army-issue cot, skittering it sideways and, he was sure, bending the legs some. The air left him and he smiled in appreciation for the violence of that. Riley calmly pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. “Now me,” he said, hands reaching for his fly, “I like being in charge.”
Spike’s cock didn’t have a problem with that statement and twitched eagerly against tight denim. And seeing as the jeans were being so damn confining all of a sudden, he ripped the fly open, toed off his boots, and wriggled out of them.
Riley opened his slacks and pushed them down, revealing what were, indeed, army-issue green briefs. As he stepped out of them, he looked up to see Spike gaping at him, bare from the waist down, one hand around his erection.
Spike swallowed, his mouth dry, and, with a joking laugh, said, “I’ll tell you anything you want to know!”
Riley had to smile. He gripped the base of his dick, fingers just barely able to circle it. “What, are you afraid of this ‘tiny government-issue cock’?”
“That’s… wow.” Spike’s eyebrows were at his hairline. “Bigger’n Angel’s.” He coughed. “Not that that’s saying a lot. But… uh… damn.”
Riley shrugged with a bare nod to modesty and crawled onto the bed. Spike crawled backward as Riley advanced over him, putting a bare foot on the soldier’s broad chest. “Slow down, there, farm boy. Considering the, ahem,” his eyes flicked down the length of Riley’s body, “think I should be on top.”
“Nah,” Riley said, gently removing Spike’s foot from his sternum and continuing his slow crawl up the bed. His other hand moved slowly up Spike’s thigh and hip, reaching the t-shirt edge and nudging it gently up. His hand skimmed under, exploring abs, chest, and finally tweaking a nipple as he pressed down to kiss again.
“Uh… no, seriously. You could split a bloke in two, and as much as I love the rough stuff…”
“Sh,” Riley nibbled along his jaw. “Buffy didn’t mind.” His fingers crawled over Spike’s thigh and dipped between his legs. Thick, round fingers with carefully trimmed nails, they walked along his skin and then tapped at his entrance and… holy hell that’s the size of his forefinger?
Spike stiffened and pushed up on Riley’s chest. “Yeah, well, I have it on personal authority she had a slightly bigger hole to deal with it!”
Riley shook his head. “I’m really not taking ‘no’ for an answer.” When he felt the body under him become completely rigid, he sighed, took hold of one pale hand and directed toward his groin. “You’ll be less afraid of him if you get to know him better.”
“Not afraid,” Spike muttered, but his fingers were tentative, almost trembling, as they ghosted gently over the broad head of Riley’s cock. Gathering courage, he reached further, set his palm over the crown and rubbed it, marveling at the size, and the fit of it in his hand. “If I’d have known you had a todger like this,” he said, “I’d have hated you even more.”
Riley slipped his hand around Spike’s cock and gave a squeeze. “You have nothing to be jealous of.”
The talented hand stroking and squeezing, twisting just a bit to run over the crown on each upstroke, was driving all apprehension swiftly from Spike’s head. “Uh… how long have you known you… guh… fancied blokes?”
A puff of warm air filled every cranny of his ear. “The plastic stake might have been a displacement activity.”
“Bastard.”
Riley chuckled, and damn, that breath bathed over his face and tickled down to the short hairs at the back of his neck, smelling so clean and wholesome and alive. And Riley nuzzled his nose along Spike’s jaw and nipped lightly at his neck, and Spike could feel his whole body warming up, flexing up, reaching for more contact with soft, smooth skin, downy hairs and rippling muscle. He arched his whole body - and really that was much better than contact with the blanket, which felt like it was made out of horsehair or maybe wood chips. Riley’s cock filled his hand, and he lifted his body to hump against it. Riley’s fist tightened against him, milking him almost to the edge, pleasure sparking on the edges of his vision, building in his toes, his fingers, his balls, almost… one more pump and…
And then, absolutely unfairly, Riley was letting go of him, stepping off the bed. Spike tried to follow him, feeling bereft now the cold air was slipping into places previously occupied by warm flesh. Riley chuckled and batted his hands away. “I do plan on using lube, you know.” He opened a foot locker and rummaged around inside, bare ass wriggling enticingly.
Spike stood up and ran his hands over that ass, smooth and warm and golden. “You look hot bent over,” he said, thrusting playfully against him.
Riley turned, a bottle of lube in one hand that soon was pressed against Spike’s back as he held him for a long, exploring kiss. “You’re not bad yourself, in that shirt and nothing else. Something kinky about that.”
“Fuck,” Spike ripped the black tee over his head. “Forgot I still had it on.” He stepped closer into the embrace, feeling the gentle shapes of Riley’s body against his bare chest. “This is better.”
“Mmm,” Riley spread his legs, flexed to get lower, shoulders just over Spike’s as he nibbled and kissed up and down his neck. “Let’s get back where we were.”
“Hell yeah.”
Spike wrapped his legs around Riley’s hips, riding up and down, fucking against his stomach while Riley’s gel-coated fingers explored his crack, cool and soothing, slipping in gently and rotating with expert assurance. No, it wasn’t soldier-boy’s first time, not by a long shot. He twisted and pressed. Spike hissed, feeling a burn as two fingers entered at once. “Thought you said you’d go slow.”
Riley kissed his chin. “This is slow.”
“Riley, I…”
“Shh… just relax. I’ll take care of you.” Riley bent over, letting Spike slowly settle back on the bed while his fingers never stopped working, crooking, and setting off sparks of pleasure as they casually swept over his prostate again and again. Three fingers now, and he flattened them and twisted, causing Spike to arch again at the sudden unexpected burn/pleasure/pain. “There now… hang on.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Yes you are.” And he shifted his weight, hand coming up, sticky with lube, to rest on Spike’s hip as he lined himself up, a solid wall of flesh against Spike’s stretched entrance.
Icy cramps seized Spike’s whole body, and he gasped, mind returning to his first time, a century ago, how scared he’d been, humiliated, unsure… but this time there were warm hands soothing him, thumbs rubbing back and forth from his inner thighs as though spreading out the hurt, and Riley whispered gentle, encouraging things into his hair. “It’s all right, you’ll be all right.”
“Fuck!”
The chuckle felt like it was coming from inside his own chest. “In a minute. Hold on to me. Come on.”
Spike wrapped his arms around Riley’s shoulders and leaned against the sweat-wet chest, struggling to relax, to banish the pain as he was slowly, inexorably filled. He felt his body stretching, stretching… several interminable moments of being sure that was all of it and finding out it wasn’t.
Spike was panting. “Don’t… don’t get to top too many blokes, do you?”
“I don’t like to hurt people,” Riley said, keeping up his careful circles, rubbing, spreading his hands along creamy, cool white skin. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
The pain was ebbing, slowly, spiking up again in short bursts as he unconsciously clenched or shifted, but before it was really gone, Spike nodded.
The first thrust made blood blossom across his vision. The second seemed to jar his spine. The third, he rose up to try and escape. The fourth, he pushed himself down, meeting it with a pleasant, all-consuming smash of flesh.
The bottoms of his feet seemed to vibrate with the sensation of it. Riley’s chin was hooked over his shoulder, his big hands left Spike’s hips and wrapped around his back, sliding on sweat but pushing him up, down, up, down. Spike felt small, delicate, and like his whole body was being fucked, inside and out.
“See, I told you… ugh… told you you could take it. Oh god. Spike… you’re so… sucking me in… so… fuck! So tight!” Riley’s teeth were gritted, his breath coming in harsh hisses as he moved. He leaned back, reached down between them, fisting Spike’s cock hard and fast.
“Gonna cum…” he groaned, jacking hard and fucking hard. Spike felt trapped between the sensations and only moaned in response. Riley’s face was screwed up in an expression half agonized. Spike reached up, ruffling his short hair and grabbing his head, he pressed their lips together, wet tongues refreshing, necessary with the blinding heat that built up between them.
No, not yet not…
Riley slammed him into the mattress. Metal squealed in protest. There was no more thought to spare to niceties like staying upright. Riley grabbed fistfuls of the bed and pummeled Spike like he was trying to break through to the floor. Spike spilled, he popped like a balloon, cum gushing between them only to be smeared, flattened, smashed between two taut stomachs.
“Huh.. huh… uhhh.” Riley’s eyes rolled up, and he fell onto his elbow, back rising and falling in huge gasps as he came down from the rush of his orgasm.
Spike gasped too, and licked salt from his lips. “Fuck,” he said. His joints all felt loose. “Think you fucked me apart.”
Riley chuckled, a little half-heartedly, and his dick twitched, squeezing out an extra drop of jizz and making Spike stretch his neck and gasp again. Riley nipped at the exposed adam’s apple and slowly got up on his hands to ease his way out. They both bit their lips and hissed at the sensation as they separated wetly.
“Move over, bed hog,” Riley said, slapping Spike’s elbow.
“Piss off. Can’t move. You killed me.”
“You’re already dead,” Riley admonished, and nudged Spike over so he could collapse on his back.
They each hung a little off the bed. Spike grimaced and rolled onto his side, his hips loosely jolting in their sockets. Still, the view of a sweaty, cum-streaked Riley, exhausted, was worth the pain. “So, I really didn’t expect our little meeting to end like that,” he said, and they both laughed.
***
“You got the hostile to confess all this?” Riley’s superior leafed through the pages of Spike’s neat handwriting. “Names, dates… he was thorough.”
Riley shrugged. “You catch more flies with honey, my momma always said. We should keep the hostile here, under observation. I mean, until we’ve checked everything out.”
“Of course. Good work, Finn.” His superior clapped him on the soldier. Riley ducked his head, smiling secretly to himself.
This fic now has a completely unnecessary sequel -->
This is my mod challenge for darling jasonsnene who asked me for "Spike/Riley, with Riley large and in charge".
WELL! I made darn sure soldier-boy was in charge, honey.
Warnings: Explicit mansex. Also vague attempts at a plot. Takes place post-After the Fall, using AtF comics canon but not Buffy s8 canon because I didn't read up to the point where Riley shows up so I'm ignoring it. :P
Boots pelted up and down the quiet streets, echoing on the hard surfaces of closed buildings. Riley motioned two guys from the squad to check out another alleyway as they passed it. What they were searching for, they weren’t sure, but they had all the equipment and experience necessary.
Something had happened in LA., headquarters was certain of that. The science types talked of ‘signatures’ and ‘massive pulses’, but so far all Riley had seen was Los Angeles, big and empty after hours. A hooker shied away as they approached, giving them dirty looks. She read clean on the monitors. If anything, the city was quieter than the last time Riley had seen it. They passed two closed bars before they found one open. Dimico stopped just south of the entrance and waved Riley over.
“Sir, we have two room temperatures inside.”
Riley sighed, looking at the display showing x-ray overlaid on heat - two bodies in the bar moving about without the tell-tale orange glow of humanity. “Vampires. Central Command is talking like this city must have vaporized and re-built itself over night, but all we can find is a couple of vampires out drinking.”
Dimico smirked. “Let’s not get too blasé. I mean, these are monsters, sir.”
Dimico was new. Riley holstered his gun and took the wooden stake out of his back pocket. “Continue scanning, coordinate with Singh. I’ll take care of these two.”
“Alone, sir?”
It was Riley’s turn to smirk. He turned on his heel and pointed the stake, blunt-end first, at Dimico. “I’ll be out in twenty. Keep moving west.”
Patrons looked up from their beers as Riley entered the bar. Mildly shocked expressions: it was the flack jacket more than anything. More often than not on this mission, they were asked if they were filming a movie.
One head at the bar didn’t look up or back, and it was situated just to the left of the end of the bar, right where the hostile was seen on the scanner. And even from the back, was instantly recognizable. “Oh no. Not you!”
Slicked-back platinum dyed hair turned to show an arched, dark eyebrow. “Well, if it isn’t soldier boy!”
Riley shifted his stance, irritated and trying desperately to pick out the other hostile in the bar before he was irrevocably distracted. Southwest corner. He turned, back to Spike. (It wasn’t like Hostile 17 was a problem, was it? Intelligence still put him firmly on the ‘good guy’ side of things.)
An older woman, smoking a cigarette and twiddling a paper coaster, sat alone in the southwest corner. “Hey, big guy,” she said, eyes roving appreciatively as he approached.
“Nothing personal,” he said, and plunged the stake into her heart.
He turned to find the whole room now very attentive on him. He coughed and wiped the dust off his arm. “We’re, uh, filming a movie.”
“What did you have to go do that for?” A man jumped up from an adjacent table. “Fuckin’ vampire hunters. Like Laurie was hurting anybody!” He snatched his windbreaker off the back of his chair and stormed out into the street.
A guy at the bar turned back to his drink with a muttered, “Asshole.”
“You’ve got a lot to learn about LA, mate.” Spike hooked Riley’s elbow and turned toward the door. “Come on, you’re lowering the respectability of the establishment.”
Riley tugged his arm free. “What are you doing here, Spike?”
Spike glanced at the empty table behind them before saying, “The same thing Laurie was doing.”
Riley frowned, not liking the ambiguity. “Soliciting for blood money?”
“No, you absolute berk. Having a beer.” Spike tossed up one hand. “You know what? Don’t take my advice. Enjoy pissing off the locals. They’re a forgiving bunch, after the whole trip to hell and back.”
Spike pushed his way out the street door with his shoulder, hands hooked in his belt to exaggerate his swagger.
All around the bar, hostile faces stared at Riley. He tucked his stake back into his pocket and followed Spike out.
Dimico trotted right up to Riley. “Unbelievable. That wasn’t even five minutes! Are the hostiles…?”
“Keep sweeping. This one’s not hostile. At least, not in the official sense of the word.”
Spike stopped his saunter in the middle of the street. He glanced up, left, and then to the right, down the street, and Riley realized he was picking out the squad, letting him know he knew the tactical situation. “Do you pillocks have any idea what has happened to this city? Or is Uncle Sam meddling about blind as usual?”
One of the privates took a step out from the alleyway he was standing in. Riley held up a hand to hold him off. “We’re here to investigate a paranormal energy surge in this location. If you know anything about that, Spike, now’s a good time to talk.”
Spike curled his lip. “If you want to find out about Hell-A’s little trip there and back again, you’re going to have to lose the glee club, mate. I don’t talk to large groups of soldiers. Bad for my health.” He raised both eyebrows, and two fingers, and turned his back on Riley, walking briskly up the street.
“Sir?”
Riley shook his head. “I’ll handle it. Singh, you’re in charge, continue the sweep. We’ll reconvene at HQ at 0500.”
Spike didn’t look behind him, not once, as Riley tailed him down one block and over two. At the next corner after that stood a gas station, lit up bright as the surface of the moon. Spike stopped there, his head reflecting like a beacon, and lit a cigarette. He blew smoke at Riley. “Look at you: large and in charge. ‘Reconvene at oh five hundred’!” Spike laughed at his own approximation of Riley’s accent and took another hit off the cigarette.
“I don’t have time for games, Spike. What happened to the city?”
To his surprise, Spike lost the bravado. He looked grimly at the gum-splattered pavement and shook his head. “It’s not a pretty story, nor a quick one, and there’s no satisfying lesson to it.” He glanced up at Riley, head tilted. “Anyway, there’s fuck-all you can do about it, so I suggest rounding up the boy scouts and telling the pricks in charge you searched really hard, by golly, and found nothing.”
Riley folded his arms and looked down steadily at the vampire. “I can’t do that.”
“You’re going to have to.” Spike gestured widely with his cigarette. “This thing is past tense, now. City’s back to normal. Well, normal as this town gets, anyway.” He shrugged and started walking again. “Maybe most folks feel a stronger sense of community, but that’s balanced out by more fuckin’ crazies. Really, the whole thing is a wash. ‘Cept for Wes, I suppose.” He shook his head again.
“Spike!” Riley held his ground as the vampire continued to saunter away. “The American people deserve to know what happened here.”
Spike spun on one heel to shrug back at Riley. “Not my country.”
“If you don’t volunteer information, I’ll have no choice but to consider you hostile and take action.”
Spike continued walking backwards. “Always have been hostile, mate. What are you going to do? Put another chip in my brain?”
Riley huffed a short breath out his nose, nodded once, and made a motion like throwing something. Spike flinched, and then fell to the ground, shaking. Riley shook his head again and started winding up the cord. “No,” he said, “I’ll use my taser.”
***
Spike awoke to a splitting headache - which was, rather, his usual wake-up call lately. But he didn’t feel hung over. He blinked confusedly at the surroundings until vague green-grey blobs resolved into a completely unfamiliar room.
There was a metallic squeak and he looked down. His hand was cuffed to the edge of a metal cot, which complained with his every motion. A perfectly tucked blanket of scratchy wool lay under him, too. He looked up to find Riley standing in what was practically parade rest at the foot of the bed. “Good. That was just about when you should have recovered.”
Spike gave him a hateful look. “Good to know I’m in expert hands.”
“Vampires aren’t complicated, Spike. In good health, the reaction times are pretty uniform. You’re doing well.”
“Woke up a little early, did I?”
Riley shrugged. “About four seconds late. But you always did sleep in.”
Riley had the same calm, vaguely friendly face, even with a scar on it now, a little older. Spike jerked his wrist to make the metal cuff jingle. “This doesn’t intimidate me, Opie. I was recently in a hell dimension where I had to work my way up from prisoner to slave to prisoner with benefits.” He tilted his head, as though fondly remembering, “Then to lord, then prisoner again…”
The mattress dipped as Riley planted his fists on it. “How about you stick to the facts my superiors will find relevant, and remember that this government condones torture?”
“If you really want to disturb me, talk about your sex life.” Spike glanced derisively around the small room, walls of cinder block in institutional green, obviously Riley’s private quarters. “Smells like Rosy Palm’s the only one who’s gotten any action in here since the building was built.”
“You said you went to hell. Who sent you there, and why?”
“What happened to that special ops bird you had? She looked like a goer.”
Riley didn’t move from his position, fists planted on either side of Spike’s feet. “We’re not here to talk about me.”
“What, your tiny government-issue cock not enough for her?”
“How many people were sent to hell? Was it the whole city? A part of it?”
“Now me, on the other hand, I’ve been getting so much trim my dick is actually sore. Seriously, mate, never try to keep a god-king happy. Or an army of warrior women. I set a bad example with Spider. You give in to one and they all want a piece, and I’m not made of metal, here.”
“Spike!” Riley shook the bed. “I’m not kidding around here. Start being useful or it’s not going to be a plastic stake this time.”
Spike sighed, leaning back and shifting his shoulders to try and get comfortable. “All you’ve done is kid around, mate. I told you: there’s nothing to tell. It’s all over, and no one’s to blame.” He bit his lower lip, looking off to the side. “At least, not entirely.”
Riley leaned further, face over Spike’s midsection now. He pushed the mattress again. “What did you do?”
“What I always do.” His head fell to rest on the small government-issue pillow. “Follow the hero into battle.”
“The hero? Buffy? Was Buffy here?” Riley was starting to fume.
Spike wrinkled his brow. “No, not Buffy. As if I’d tell you who it was. You did hear that ‘hero’ bit, didn’t you?”
Riley rocked forward, just a bit, then pushed off the bed to stand. “So it’s Angel.”
“What? That’s…”
“Obviously true, by your reaction.” Riley raised one eyebrow fractionally, his only concession to smug as he turned to pace. “Last reports had you working with him, and for no discernable compensation. Kind of makes me wonder if you’ve changed teams.”
“Piss off. I’ve been one of the white hats for years now!”
Riley smiled and knocked his fists together. “That’s, er, not what I meant.”
“Thought you boys didn’t ask and didn’t tell.”
“Could you answer a question? Any question? Or are you trying to get beat up?”
Spike sighed, long and low. He closed his eyes. “Angel attacked some nasties that were a bit out of his league. They sent the whole city to hell. Which was as advertised. A lot of unpleasant things occurred, but eventually we were able to bring the city back, as it was the moment we left.” He opened his eyes. “All the scars are on the inside. So you see, there really is less than nothing you can do, and all the green paint in the world isn’t going to change that.”
“We could see Angel punished for what he did.”
Spike jerked his arm sharply. The chain on the cuff broke with a quiet “snick” and he jumped to his feet. The broken handcuff dangled, catching and smearing blood as he pointed at Riley. “Angel has suffered enough. You don’t know anything about him.”
“I know he’s an asshole.”
Spike nodded. “All right, you know a little about him. But I’m saying leave the poor, sad old bastard alone. Damage is done.”
“He thought he could make decisions for Buffy, and now he thinks he can make decisions for the whole of Los Angeles. When does it stop?”
“When you let it go, mate.” Spike took a step blithely back and raised his hand, jiggling the broken cuff. “Thanks for the bondage fantasy and all, but I’ve got to run.”
“I can’t let you do that.” Riley’s hand closed on Spike’s bicep as he turned to go.
“Not giving you the choice. Still a vampire.”
Riley peered, earnestly confused. “Why are you defending him?”
“Didn’t come here to get psycho-analyzed.”
Riley dropped his hand. “You didn’t come here at all. I abducted you.”
“And thank you so much for refreshing painful memories.” Spike’s hand landed on Riley’s bicep, mirroring his earlier action. “How I about I drag you to a vamp whorehouse now?”
Riley’s eyelashes fluttered closed, just a second, but it was more than enough for Spike to notice. He let go of Riley like he was hot. “So is that why there’s no Mrs. Government-issue anymore? You’re still hot for fang.”
Riley’s eyes opened, his expression firmed. “No, it’s really not.”
“You have something you want to tell me, soldier-boy?”
Riley opened his mouth, closed it, shrugged with one shoulder, and then nodded. His hand went to the back of Spike’s neck, and before the vampire could pull back in surprise, Riley’s lips were on his, large and firm lips, tasting of clean masculinity. And then he straightened, stepped back. His hand was still on Spike’s nape, his head still tilted down. A long moment passed, during which Spike mostly looked surprised and Riley licked his bottom lip. “No, Spike, I’m not ‘hot for fang'. And by the way? You’re still annoying.” His fingers flexed once, hot and tight on the back of Spike’s neck, and he stepped back. “So tell me again why you’re working with Angel.”
“I’m not.” Spike’s voice squeaked. He swallowed and spoke more calmly, “Not anymore.”
“He dumped you.”
“No!” Spike paced away, gesturing emphatically. “If there was something between me and the poofter, I’d be the one breaking it off.”
“Because you have such a history of being in control in your relationships.”
“And you would know that how?” Spike scowled. “Are you stalking me?”
“It’s my job to keep tabs on supernatural activity in this area, Spike. And you’d be surprised what makes it into your file.” He shrugged again. “You attract attention.”
“From you, for instance,” Spike looked wary.
Riley stepped closer. “I’m not denying it. Seems to me, you switched Buffy for Angel, but the story’s the same; they’re the hero, you’re the sidekick.”
“I’m no one’s bleeding sidekick!”
“But you don’t seem to mind secondary roles, do you? Being supportive." Riley smiled, small and teasing. "Standing by your man.”
“Bollocks! I’m not… he’s not… Angel is a good man! I don’t need to suck his cock to defend him.”
Riley touched Spike’s face, just with his fingertips, tracing the edge of his cheek. “Maybe there’s a better way to convince you to help us.”
Spike shuddered, not sure why he didn’t just flee the room, and took another step back. He was only a foot from the wall, now, and the door was on the other side of the room. But he was the vampire here, wasn’t he? He tilted his head back, sneered with all the bravado he could summon, and said, “Ta, mate, but I’ve had better.”
Riley only smiled, and flattened his hand, so warm and roughened with calluses, against Spike’s cheek. “How about you give me a try and then decide?”
The slick painted wall was suddenly pressing against his back. Spike shook his head. “Wait… woah. Why am I the one retreating?” He took a half-step forward, though Riley didn’t back up and their chests bumped together. “You need to remember who wears the fangs in this room.” Spike rolled his neck, fangs and ridges coming to the fore.
A flash of pink tongue darted out, moistening dry lips, and Riley’s hands grasped Spike’s arms. “All right, maybe I am still hot for fang.” He lowered his face, and fangs melted away just as his lips touched Spike’s. It was just a gentle kiss - maybe Riley was a little disappointed the fangs had vanished. Without moving back, his lips moving against Spike’s, he said, “Now how about you stop pretending you don’t love giving up control.”
The idea, the words, “giving up control” made him shiver, a tiny frisson on his spine, and the broad chest before him, the arms thick with muscle - the, well, frankly this was the largest person ever to try to kiss him, and so Spike found himself, rather to his own surprise, opening up as those lips descended again, and then, much to his delight, those thick arms were encircling him, pulling him flush against a marvelous expanse of muscle thinly covered in fabric.
Riley twisted to the left, breaking away from all-too-reluctant lips to breathe. “Yeah,” he said, “that’s what I thought.”
“Smug git,” Spike replied, though without heat. “Not that I don’t fancy a go, as fucked up as the very idea is, but don’t you have some reconvening to get to?”
Riley’s eyes flicked briefly to the clock on the wall. “At 0500. It’s 0150 now. We have time.” His large hands roamed over Spike’s shoulders, down his back, cupped his ass and lifted him back to his mouth.
Friction and human flesh heated Spike’s jeans as he was raised up, pressed to the wall, and forcefully kissed. No, this would be no problem, for a night. He’d worry about the implications, their past history, and all that bollocks in the morning. He wrapped his legs around the straining body, squeezed, and was rewarded with more heat, more friction, almost burning the rivets off his fly.
And then he hit that army-issue cot, skittering it sideways and, he was sure, bending the legs some. The air left him and he smiled in appreciation for the violence of that. Riley calmly pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. “Now me,” he said, hands reaching for his fly, “I like being in charge.”
Spike’s cock didn’t have a problem with that statement and twitched eagerly against tight denim. And seeing as the jeans were being so damn confining all of a sudden, he ripped the fly open, toed off his boots, and wriggled out of them.
Riley opened his slacks and pushed them down, revealing what were, indeed, army-issue green briefs. As he stepped out of them, he looked up to see Spike gaping at him, bare from the waist down, one hand around his erection.
Spike swallowed, his mouth dry, and, with a joking laugh, said, “I’ll tell you anything you want to know!”
Riley had to smile. He gripped the base of his dick, fingers just barely able to circle it. “What, are you afraid of this ‘tiny government-issue cock’?”
“That’s… wow.” Spike’s eyebrows were at his hairline. “Bigger’n Angel’s.” He coughed. “Not that that’s saying a lot. But… uh… damn.”
Riley shrugged with a bare nod to modesty and crawled onto the bed. Spike crawled backward as Riley advanced over him, putting a bare foot on the soldier’s broad chest. “Slow down, there, farm boy. Considering the, ahem,” his eyes flicked down the length of Riley’s body, “think I should be on top.”
“Nah,” Riley said, gently removing Spike’s foot from his sternum and continuing his slow crawl up the bed. His other hand moved slowly up Spike’s thigh and hip, reaching the t-shirt edge and nudging it gently up. His hand skimmed under, exploring abs, chest, and finally tweaking a nipple as he pressed down to kiss again.
“Uh… no, seriously. You could split a bloke in two, and as much as I love the rough stuff…”
“Sh,” Riley nibbled along his jaw. “Buffy didn’t mind.” His fingers crawled over Spike’s thigh and dipped between his legs. Thick, round fingers with carefully trimmed nails, they walked along his skin and then tapped at his entrance and… holy hell that’s the size of his forefinger?
Spike stiffened and pushed up on Riley’s chest. “Yeah, well, I have it on personal authority she had a slightly bigger hole to deal with it!”
Riley shook his head. “I’m really not taking ‘no’ for an answer.” When he felt the body under him become completely rigid, he sighed, took hold of one pale hand and directed toward his groin. “You’ll be less afraid of him if you get to know him better.”
“Not afraid,” Spike muttered, but his fingers were tentative, almost trembling, as they ghosted gently over the broad head of Riley’s cock. Gathering courage, he reached further, set his palm over the crown and rubbed it, marveling at the size, and the fit of it in his hand. “If I’d have known you had a todger like this,” he said, “I’d have hated you even more.”
Riley slipped his hand around Spike’s cock and gave a squeeze. “You have nothing to be jealous of.”
The talented hand stroking and squeezing, twisting just a bit to run over the crown on each upstroke, was driving all apprehension swiftly from Spike’s head. “Uh… how long have you known you… guh… fancied blokes?”
A puff of warm air filled every cranny of his ear. “The plastic stake might have been a displacement activity.”
“Bastard.”
Riley chuckled, and damn, that breath bathed over his face and tickled down to the short hairs at the back of his neck, smelling so clean and wholesome and alive. And Riley nuzzled his nose along Spike’s jaw and nipped lightly at his neck, and Spike could feel his whole body warming up, flexing up, reaching for more contact with soft, smooth skin, downy hairs and rippling muscle. He arched his whole body - and really that was much better than contact with the blanket, which felt like it was made out of horsehair or maybe wood chips. Riley’s cock filled his hand, and he lifted his body to hump against it. Riley’s fist tightened against him, milking him almost to the edge, pleasure sparking on the edges of his vision, building in his toes, his fingers, his balls, almost… one more pump and…
And then, absolutely unfairly, Riley was letting go of him, stepping off the bed. Spike tried to follow him, feeling bereft now the cold air was slipping into places previously occupied by warm flesh. Riley chuckled and batted his hands away. “I do plan on using lube, you know.” He opened a foot locker and rummaged around inside, bare ass wriggling enticingly.
Spike stood up and ran his hands over that ass, smooth and warm and golden. “You look hot bent over,” he said, thrusting playfully against him.
Riley turned, a bottle of lube in one hand that soon was pressed against Spike’s back as he held him for a long, exploring kiss. “You’re not bad yourself, in that shirt and nothing else. Something kinky about that.”
“Fuck,” Spike ripped the black tee over his head. “Forgot I still had it on.” He stepped closer into the embrace, feeling the gentle shapes of Riley’s body against his bare chest. “This is better.”
“Mmm,” Riley spread his legs, flexed to get lower, shoulders just over Spike’s as he nibbled and kissed up and down his neck. “Let’s get back where we were.”
“Hell yeah.”
Spike wrapped his legs around Riley’s hips, riding up and down, fucking against his stomach while Riley’s gel-coated fingers explored his crack, cool and soothing, slipping in gently and rotating with expert assurance. No, it wasn’t soldier-boy’s first time, not by a long shot. He twisted and pressed. Spike hissed, feeling a burn as two fingers entered at once. “Thought you said you’d go slow.”
Riley kissed his chin. “This is slow.”
“Riley, I…”
“Shh… just relax. I’ll take care of you.” Riley bent over, letting Spike slowly settle back on the bed while his fingers never stopped working, crooking, and setting off sparks of pleasure as they casually swept over his prostate again and again. Three fingers now, and he flattened them and twisted, causing Spike to arch again at the sudden unexpected burn/pleasure/pain. “There now… hang on.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Yes you are.” And he shifted his weight, hand coming up, sticky with lube, to rest on Spike’s hip as he lined himself up, a solid wall of flesh against Spike’s stretched entrance.
Icy cramps seized Spike’s whole body, and he gasped, mind returning to his first time, a century ago, how scared he’d been, humiliated, unsure… but this time there were warm hands soothing him, thumbs rubbing back and forth from his inner thighs as though spreading out the hurt, and Riley whispered gentle, encouraging things into his hair. “It’s all right, you’ll be all right.”
“Fuck!”
The chuckle felt like it was coming from inside his own chest. “In a minute. Hold on to me. Come on.”
Spike wrapped his arms around Riley’s shoulders and leaned against the sweat-wet chest, struggling to relax, to banish the pain as he was slowly, inexorably filled. He felt his body stretching, stretching… several interminable moments of being sure that was all of it and finding out it wasn’t.
Spike was panting. “Don’t… don’t get to top too many blokes, do you?”
“I don’t like to hurt people,” Riley said, keeping up his careful circles, rubbing, spreading his hands along creamy, cool white skin. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
The pain was ebbing, slowly, spiking up again in short bursts as he unconsciously clenched or shifted, but before it was really gone, Spike nodded.
The first thrust made blood blossom across his vision. The second seemed to jar his spine. The third, he rose up to try and escape. The fourth, he pushed himself down, meeting it with a pleasant, all-consuming smash of flesh.
The bottoms of his feet seemed to vibrate with the sensation of it. Riley’s chin was hooked over his shoulder, his big hands left Spike’s hips and wrapped around his back, sliding on sweat but pushing him up, down, up, down. Spike felt small, delicate, and like his whole body was being fucked, inside and out.
“See, I told you… ugh… told you you could take it. Oh god. Spike… you’re so… sucking me in… so… fuck! So tight!” Riley’s teeth were gritted, his breath coming in harsh hisses as he moved. He leaned back, reached down between them, fisting Spike’s cock hard and fast.
“Gonna cum…” he groaned, jacking hard and fucking hard. Spike felt trapped between the sensations and only moaned in response. Riley’s face was screwed up in an expression half agonized. Spike reached up, ruffling his short hair and grabbing his head, he pressed their lips together, wet tongues refreshing, necessary with the blinding heat that built up between them.
No, not yet not…
Riley slammed him into the mattress. Metal squealed in protest. There was no more thought to spare to niceties like staying upright. Riley grabbed fistfuls of the bed and pummeled Spike like he was trying to break through to the floor. Spike spilled, he popped like a balloon, cum gushing between them only to be smeared, flattened, smashed between two taut stomachs.
“Huh.. huh… uhhh.” Riley’s eyes rolled up, and he fell onto his elbow, back rising and falling in huge gasps as he came down from the rush of his orgasm.
Spike gasped too, and licked salt from his lips. “Fuck,” he said. His joints all felt loose. “Think you fucked me apart.”
Riley chuckled, a little half-heartedly, and his dick twitched, squeezing out an extra drop of jizz and making Spike stretch his neck and gasp again. Riley nipped at the exposed adam’s apple and slowly got up on his hands to ease his way out. They both bit their lips and hissed at the sensation as they separated wetly.
“Move over, bed hog,” Riley said, slapping Spike’s elbow.
“Piss off. Can’t move. You killed me.”
“You’re already dead,” Riley admonished, and nudged Spike over so he could collapse on his back.
They each hung a little off the bed. Spike grimaced and rolled onto his side, his hips loosely jolting in their sockets. Still, the view of a sweaty, cum-streaked Riley, exhausted, was worth the pain. “So, I really didn’t expect our little meeting to end like that,” he said, and they both laughed.
***
“You got the hostile to confess all this?” Riley’s superior leafed through the pages of Spike’s neat handwriting. “Names, dates… he was thorough.”
Riley shrugged. “You catch more flies with honey, my momma always said. We should keep the hostile here, under observation. I mean, until we’ve checked everything out.”
“Of course. Good work, Finn.” His superior clapped him on the soldier. Riley ducked his head, smiling secretly to himself.
This fic now has a completely unnecessary sequel -->