FIC: For Me

[katekintail.livejournal.com]

Title: For Me
Fandom: Buffyverse
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Xander/Spike
Summary: A night in Spike and Xander’s relationship
Notes: Written for the ROG WS Comment Fic Fest Reboot from this prompt from justwolf: Two characters in a D/s relationship. When one character is feeling very submissive, they wet themselves. The other character LOVES this.



It is all Angel’s fault. That was something they could both agree on, and it was the first thing they bonded over in Scotland. Well, second. The first was the whiskey, and how even the same brands as back in the states tasted better in Scotland. The second was that it was Captain Broody Pants’ fault. And the third was that they were attracted to each other.

From there, they had slowly but inevitably progressed to being lovers. But there had been more than that. They had a past together. They had a shared mission now at the citadel. And they had a shared kink or three.

“Who would have thought,” Spike says, dropping to his knees in front of Xander. “That one day I’d be asking you to tie me up.”

“Begging,” Xander corrects. He closes his eye and cocks his head, as close to winking as a one-eyed man could get.

“I remember that first night I spent tied up in your basement, watching you sleep.”

“Hush.” Xander quiets him with a kiss then ties another loop of the silk tight across Spike’s chest, binding his arms to his sides. “Blindfold tonight?”

Spike contemplates the choice. It is tempting to let Xander bind him completely and blind his eyes. The sensations are always heightened when he can’t see, when he can only feel the surprising touches against his skin. He loves the sensation of being entirely dependent on Xander during sex, of relinquishing control to his dom. He’d never have admitted it back then, but being a neutered vampire had been the best thing that could have happened to him.

What he was now was entirely his choice. He’d chosen to fight with the Scoobies. He’d chosen to take back his soul. He’d chosen to die saving the world. He’d chosen to stay at Angel’s law firm when he was once again corporeal. He’d chosen to go to Scotland to work with the new slayers. And he’d chosen to be Xander Harris’s submissive.

“Time’s up,” Xander says, running his hand over Spike’s stiff, platinum blond hair. “No blindfold, then.”

Spike is about to protest, but Xander knows best what he needs, maybe always did.

He doesn’t know everything, though. He doesn’t know how to fix Spike now, or even what’s wrong with him exactly. But it’s definitely Angel’s fault. That stupid prophecy of his had gotten all confused and, after the big battle, it had split between them. So Spike and Angel were both half human now, whatever the hell that meant. He could step into the sun, though he was more comfortable in the shade. He had a heartbeat, though it was faint. He could eat and drink real food, though he still had to drink blood more often than he liked to stay healthy. They were still trying to figure out what it all meant. All Spike knew was that he felt wrong sometimes and Xander was the only one who could make him feel right again. Around Xander, he could be himself and Xander somehow loved him for it.

Xander ties off the silk strip and starts unbuttoning his fly. “No blindfold means I get to look into those pretty blue eyes as you suck me off. And I get to see that look in your eyes when you come for me. But not until I say.”

Of course. That was the whole point. “Tighter, pet?” Spike begs.

“It’s tight enough,” Xander says, stroking Spike’s head again.

Spike strains against the bindings. They give just a little, but Xander’s right; it feels tight, it feels good. He’s got just the right amount of control. He can feel without moving. He can enjoy without choosing what to do. It’s perfect. He hangs his head submissively and feels a rush of calm and arousal wash through him. Xander’s fingers caress his ears and cheek, and he tilts his head into the touch. Then he drops his mouth open, jaw going slack, and lifts his head obligingly. Xander’s fingers slide down, caressing his chin.

The moment Xander drops his pants and frees his cock, Spike swallows it. Xander moans deeply and Spike smiles around his lover’s cock in his mouth. He lives for this. He spends his nights fighting monsters, werewolves, vampires. He spends his days training slayers to know what to look for. He does this to help the world. He does this to keep everyone and everything he cares about alive. But servicing his dom is what he lives for. It’s what makes him hum. It’s what gives him purpose. It’s what makes him know that his whole life, such as it is, is worth everything.

The fact that he’s had over a century to perfect the art of a blow job is not lost on either of them. Xander’s hand grabs a fistful of Spike’s hair, kneading then pulling. His toes curl as his orgasm comes upon him. And after spilling down Spike’s throat, Xander falls to his knees in exhaustion and pleasure.

It’s a natural response, but Xander doesn’t like to look weak in front of his sub. So he hides it in gratitude. He wraps his arms around Spike, holding him close, close enough for Spike to feel his strong heartbeat, to hear his regular breaths, to smell the scent of sweat and shampoo and deodorant and semen.

To Spike, there is nothing so hot as humanity, and nothing so desirable as Xander Harris. So he buries his face against Xander’s chest and shoulder, fitting himself against his lover. And he does one of the things that had been denied him as a vampire: he wets.

The urine is warm and wet against their legs, and he bows his head more, though it still touches Xander. His release isn’t long, just a handful of seconds perhaps, but it’s long enough for the smell to permeate the room. There’s still more urine inside of Spike, but the flow stops. It’s not about being dirty. It’s not about the piss itself. It’s about submission. And this is Spike’s body showing his dom what is in his mind and heart. Xander’s caress is a thank you, and Spike wetting is a you’re welcome.

Xander kisses him, pulls back, and reaches down. He takes Spike’s hard cock in his palm, admiring it for a moment. “Good.” He nods his approval. “Growing so hard for me already.”

Xander takes himself in his other hand and starts to go. Spike doesn’t need a blindfold; he bows his head and closes his eyes. Xander’s piss covers his cock, his crotch. This piss masks the scent of his own. It pools at Spike’s knees so he’s literally kneeling in his dom. Xander will make him wash later, before they crawl into bed together. But now, before he brings Spike off, he needs Spike to know and feel who’s in charge. He needs to claim Spike as his own.

As the piss is hot and wet, Xander starts pumping Spike before the piss has even stopped flowing. He kisses Spike roughly, biting his lip though careful to not draw blood; they learned that lesson the hard way months ago. Tied as he is, Spike can’t touch himself, but he doesn’t need to. Xander knows how to touch him. Xander knows what he needs. Spike gasps and rocks, encouraging Xander to rub faster. He wants to come. He wants to come so badly. He wants to show Xander how good this feels.

But he can’t. Not until Xander says the magic words—the good kind of magic. Spike shakes, moans, not sure how much longer he can hold out. Then Xander smiles and whispers, “Come. For me.” And so Spike does. He comes so deliciously and powerfully that he nearly blacks out.

Afterward, Xander takes him in his arms, strong and tender all at once. He unties the bindings, letting Spike go free. And Spike uses his weak arms to embrace his dom, to cling to him. Xander whispers things to him, things he can’t tell anyone else, things he can only say after they’ve both come and they might not remember in the morning, things that make Spike hold on tighter so glad that this is who they are together and this is what they do. He whispers his own things back until one of them stops to yawn.

They shower. They brush their teeth. They get into bed. They try to ignore the noise in the hallway as slayers and watchers and friends come and go on their shifts. Xander is silent as he lies there, one arm wrapped around Spike, casually stroking his hair. Spike cuddles close, one arm draped around Xander. It’s so perfect—perfect for them, at least. Spike feels so good, so content in Xander’s embrace.

Suddenly, he pulls his arm back and grabs his cock. He curls shyly against his dom, not meeting Xander’s eyes, as the urge to pee strikes him. He almost can’t believe he holds back, but he does. He trembles at the idea of fighting what feels so natural to him, but he knows that wetting the bed is wrong.

“It’s all right,” Xander sooths. “You can let it go. For me.”

Spike still isn’t sure he should until he feels Xander’s hand firmly rub his back. Then he goes, squirting in his shorts as he’s pressed up to Xander’s side. It’s just a little bit of wet, just enough to let Xander know Spike still knows his place, just enough to relax Spike enough into falling asleep.