A Gentle Reprieve
Title: A Gentle Reprieve
Author: Kiristeen ke Alaya
Series: Yes. After "Things That Got Bump in the Night"
Codes: Slash, fairly explicit sexual situation, hurt/comfort
Rated: NC-17
Pairing: Methos/Spike
Feedback: Oh, YES, please. : ) on-list, or to Kiristeen@yahoo.com
Warning: Here be Slash. Sex stuff of the loving kind between two men.
Disclaimers: Not mine. Spike belongs to Joss Whedon and company. Methos and Cassandra belong to Panzer/Davis and company.
Summary: Newly souled Spike needs comfort, and Methos is just the man to give him what he needs.
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A Gentle Reprieve
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Spike glanced up as the door opened just a crack. He knew immediately who was on the other side. It was Adam, the man whose body he knew as well as he knew his own. No, it wasn't because they were lovers; though they had shagged -- twice. The two of them had spent nearly a week body-switched thanks to Willow -- and he had been left with a bright, spankin-new soul to remember the occasion by. Frankly, he could have done without the little remembrance. The whole situation hadn't been something he'd been likely to forget anyway.
He didn't say anything, and after a moment Adam continued in, obviously taking his silence as permission. He almost growled. He just wanted to be left alone. He didn't know why, didn't understand it at all, but not until both his soul and his demon had met in the same body had everything come crashing down on him -- and crash in it had . . . hard.
When it had just been his soul locked in Adam's body, he'd felt whispers sometimes, vague notions, but nothing spirit crushing. No, that had waited until after it was all over. Adam's soul safely back where it belonged, and his soul united with his demon for the very first time, had made for an experience in induced suffering that would have made a vengeance demon proud. Hell, it probably would have made Angelus proud.
Adam walked across the room silently, watching him, yet not, dropping bonelessly into the chair beside him.
"So," Spike finally said into the silence, "you're taking off today, yeah?"
Adam nodded slowly. "Yeah," he replied. "It's time."
Spike wanted to ask why. He'd become . . . attached to Adam. There was understanding between them that he hadn't shared with anyone -- ever. He didn't love him, or he should say, he wasn't in love with him. That crippling, heart-shattering emotion still belonged to Buffy. He couldn't seem to shake it no matter how many times she ignored or abused him. In fact, seeing her with Richie was something akin to hot pokers being driven into his eyeballs.
He'd spent three weeks living with his soul, or trying to, alternating between stubborn, aching silences, and violent rages in which he tried anything and everything to physically rip the soul out of himself. It was always Adam who managed to work him out of both extremes, and into something approximating normal. He really didn't know what was going to happen after Adam left. He snorted. Maybe he'd just end up as loopy as Dru. Some days it certainly felt like he was headed that way, the voices in his head angry or sullen by turns, never really leaving him alone.
"You're going to be okay," Adam said slowly. "You know that, right?"
Spike rolled his eyes. "Right," he replied drily. "Because this is so bloody normal -- a vampire having a soul and all."
"No, idiot," Adam replied, frowning when Spike flinched despite his best efforts not to. Rising to his feet with a grace equalling that of a vampire, Adam stepped forward, raising Spike's chin with one hand. "Because you're strong," he continued gently. "You're strong enough to survive anything."
Spike shook his head, swallowing against the sudden constriction in his throat, blinking against the sting behind his eyes. He'd cried bloody enough. He didn't want to cry anymore.
"Yes, you are," Adam said firmly, slowly leaning down to chastely brush his lips across Spike's.
Spike opened under the unexpected touch, suddenly, achingly hard. Bloody hell, but he wanted this man.
"Make me forget, he whispered, cupping the back of Adam's neck and pulling him back down.
Adam hesitated briefly, stiffening muscles against Spike's pull, but it was only for a moment. Relaxing, the Immortal allowed himself to be pulled toward Spike, gently moving his lips across Spike's, his tongue soothing, massaging against his own.
Spike moaned when Adam pulled back, wanting the intimate invasion to continue.
"I don't think this is a good idea," Adam whispered softly. "You're not-- You can't--"
Spike rose to his feet in one swift, angry movement. "I'm over one fucking hundred years old. That may not be as old as dirt -- or even as old as you," he hissed, "but it's old enough to know what I want, when I want it, despite the soul and in spite of the fact that I'm more then bleedin halfway to Drusville!"
Adam sighed, his expression still one of doubt.
"I know what I'm doing here. I'm asking for solace. I'm asking you to let me lose myself in you -- just for a little while. I'm asking you to make the voices stop for those precious few moments that I drown in your scent, in your taste, in you." Spike rubbed up against the Immortal, nearly smirking when he felt a hardness that was a definite match for his own.
"I want to fuck you, or have you fuck me. I really don't care which. I just want to fuck now."
"No," Adam replied firmly. "I won't 'fuck'."
Spike opened his mouth in immediate protest, intent on convincing Adam, but was cut off by the Immortal's mouth on his. He moaned.
"I will, however;" Adam whispered against his lips a moment later, "go one better."
Spike was confused, but that was okay, because Adam was kissing him again, and as long as he was, Spike could forget about all the voices yelling at him from the inside.
Somehow, Adam worked them both toward the bed, but it wasn't until Spike toppled backward onto it that it really dawned on him. He crawled backward up the bed until he could stretch out fully, taking full advantage of that fact by gently arching up, showing off the body he knew damn well was sexy.
Adam, still standing at the end of the bed, hands stalled in mid shirt-removal, watched him move. Then, suddenly, the shirt was gone, drifting down to the floor, and Adam was up on the bed with him, holding himself over Spike. He dipped his head, lathing kisses across Spike's cheekbones, jaw, throat, eventually working his way back to Spike's mouth.
Just as Spike said he wanted, he let himself go, he let himself become lost in the sensations created by the millenia old mouth. He moaned and bucked when the mouth touched and teased. He pleaded and whimpered when the mouth withdrew, never caring one whit what it sounded or looked it. This was what he'd wanted, what he needed, what he'd asked for.
"Yessss!" he hissed as that mouth descended on first one erect nipple and then the other, steadily working his way south. Nothing touched him but that hot, talented mouth and tongue as Adam held himself above Spike easily.
Then all touch went away, and Spike sat up with a start. A hand, squarely in the center of his chest, gently urged him back down. "Shhh," Adam soothed, "just lay back and feel. Give up your control for while. I'm here."
Swallowing, his breath coming in short, quick pants, he did as he was bid, fisting his fingers into the sheets as Adam slowly began unhooking his belt. Deft fingers made short work of his jeans' buttons and Spike closed his eyes, sighing in relief as he sprang free from the tight confines of his clothing. He lifted his hips, allowing Adam to slip the pants down and off him.
The jeans now on the floor with Adam's shirt, the Immortal began working his way up from Spike's feet. The pace painfully slow, nothing like the frantic coupling he'd had in mind when he'd first pulled the Immortal to him, Spike babbled, urging the Immortal to move faster. Spike wasn't sure he could take this slow torturous pleasure. In fact, he was pretty sure it would drive him right over that precarious edge he constantly hovered on these days.
"More, please!" he pleaded, though he wasn't sure the words came out right. They must have, though; Adam chuckled in response.
"All in good time," he replied.
Spike bucked, the flat of Adam's tongue sliding from the base to the crown of his cock in one single sweeping motion. He groaned, the sound actually more of a gurgle, when the sensation didn't repeat. Instead Adam moved to the hollow of one hip, gently sucking, lightly nipping, his tongue leaving moist trails of heat as he worked his way across Spike's belly until he reached the mirrored hollow of Spike's other hip.
"Touch me, Adam," he demanded hoarsely. "Just bloody touch me, already!" The demand was accompanied by a sharp bucking upward, which Adam -- the wanker -- neatly avoided.
Hands now pressed his hips firmly to the bed, and Spike wreathed beneath the touch. He ached. He wanted. He needed. He didn't get what he wanted. The gentle, loving caresses continued, a brief brush against his weeping cock -- every now and then -- the closest he came.
Adam's hands were everywhere -- despite the slow caressing motion his torturer seemed intent on. Soon, Spike began to wonder if the Immortal had kept secret a few extra hands -- all with nimble fingers attached. It was the only way Adam could be doing all the things he was doing.
Just as Spike thought he finally, really couldn't take anymore, a single, wet finger slipped behind his balls to stroke across the sensitive flesh and tease at his opening. Adam's hot mouth closed over the crown of his cock sucking him in at precisely the same moment. Gah! was really the only reply his mind could come up with as stars exploded behind his eyes and he arched up of the bed.
Tiny, electric shocks of arousal shot through his body, pooling tightly in his belly, and lower in his groin, leaving him hovering on that glorious precipice. "Yes, yes, yes!" he chanted, his hips twitching as he fought Adam's hold. He wanted so much to pump himself in and out of that hot mouth.
The single finger slipped slowly inside as Adam held him still, stretching, searching--
Moan
--finding.
Tossing his head back and forth, Spike clenched and unclenched his hands, ripping holes in the bedding he gripped. Please, oh, please, became his silent mantra, and he wasn't sure, but perhaps his vocal one as well. Stroke after slow stroke of that finger brushed against his prostate, Adam's mouth continuing it's slow path up and down his cock all the while maintaining a light sucking.
Spike was going mad. That's all there was to it. This was it. This was the end. He was stuck for the rest of eternity like this, forever held just before that glorious peak. His vocal pleas became one solid string of nonsensical words -- words that didn't even make sense to him. He knew Adam couldn't possibly understand them, but, somehow, the man did.
Spike's eyes rolled back in his head as he was suddenly engulfed to the root in Adam's mouth, Adam's finger thrusting into him quickly now, each inward slide sending a shower of sparks through him as it stroked across that bloody sweet spot. Fire raged through him as he finally, sweetly, crashed over the top and his orgasm was jerked out of him, spreading through his body in wave after wave of pure pleasure. He came, spurt after spurt filling Adam's mouth, the Immortal swallowing every drop.
Sated, and trembling with those pleasant aftershocks, Spike sagged into the bed as Adam pulled away just enough to lay beside him. Spike was utterly unresisting as Adam pulled him into an embrace.
"Sleep," he whispered, his hand rubbing gentle circles on Spike's back.
Spike obeyed, almost immediately slipping into the first peaceful sleep he'd had since the ritual to put them right.
x
With the exception of the hand lightly caressing Spike's back, Methos remained absolutely still until he was positive the vampire was fully asleep. Even then he remained where he was, just watching the blond sleep. He would like to stay. He would like that a lot. He was fast becoming very attached, and he knew he could fall for Spike -- given a little more time. Unfortunately, he'd received a call, a call from someone he would never have expected to contact him -- except perhaps at the business end of a sword.
Cassandra
She'd told him, point blank, he had one chance to have her off his back until such time, by some miracle, they ended up being the last two surviving Immortals. The fact that she'd known where to contact him, unnerved him, and made him willing to at least listen to her proposal -- though, at the time, he hadn't intended to comply with whatever it was she'd wanted.
She'd told him she'd had a vision, one that involved him. If he stayed where he was, the lives of three people would be utterly destroyed. She hadn't been able to give him names, visions were never that bloody helpful, but she had been able to describe the people.
A tall, slender, pale-skinned, platinum blond who looked to be about 25.
A dark-haired, muscular Immortal who also appeared to be in his mid 20's -- not Richie, because she knew Richie Ryan on sight.
A young dark haired girl, late teens.
Methos had no clue how his remaining could possibly have such a profound affect on those three specific people -- especially in a negative way, but if there was one thing he was utterly certain of; it was Cassandra's dedication to her visions. She wouldn't lie about them.
She'd told him that if he left -- immediately -- she might actually begin to believe he had truly changed.
He didn't rightly care what she believed about him, but he did care about her promise to leave him alone. He neither wanted to die at her hands, nor kill her. Dying was simply not in his plans, and killing her would hurt people he cared about. He wasn't willing to do that right now.
He sighed, and slowly extricated himself from Spike's grasp. It took him a while, but he managed to do it without waking the vampire. He dressed silently, not daring to look back. He knew leaving this way would probably hurt Spike, but knew just as well that Spike could charm the horns off the devil himself if he set his mind to it. No way was he risking Spike convincing him to stay.
At the door, however, he risked one look back. Spike lay sleeping, hair tussled, his mouth curved up into a seemingly innocent smile. At that moment, Methos wanted nothing more than to stalk back across the room and gather the vampire up into his arms. He turned, and stepped into the hall. He shut the door behind him.
Eyes closing for a brief moment, Methos strode downstairs and out into the day. His time in Sunnydale was over, and it was time to finally choose who he was going to be for the next couple of decades, or so, of his life.
The End
