A Question of Want
Thanks to the Livejournal Community for their good-humored patience and suggestions. Spike/Riley, some unspecified time in Season 5, Rated R
"Spike?" Riley squinted into the darkened crypt, searching for movement. The door scraped loudly as he shouldered it open; no way to be sneaky there. Waited for a moment while his eyes adjusted enough to make out the empty room, washed in the pale afternoon light. "Spike?" he called again, moving cautiously towards the hole in the floor. Spike's chip wouldn't prevent him setting booby traps, after all.
He was the only sound in the stillness; his breathing sounded harsh even to his own ears as he gazed down into the darkness. He wished he'd been bright enough to bring a flashlight, but he swung his legs onto the ladder, and quickly descended. The sunlight that entered through the upper door wasn't strong, but it was enough for him to see the bed. Spike lay tangled in the sheets, his bare back nearly glowing against the shadows. Even relaxed, Riley could see the coiled muscles underlying his skin, one outstretched arm leading his eye to where the sheets obscured his form.
He didn't know how long he stood there, looking, unable to set one foot forward or back. So much for his legendary resolve.
"What are you waiting for?" Spike's low voice growled from the darkness, made him jump. "Come to kill me, did you? Have to work up your courage?" Riley didn't have to see his face to know it was twisted in a sneer. "I'll make it easy for you, then." Spike rolled to his back, propping his arms behind his head. He looked every inch as though he was waiting...just waiting, patiently.
Riley's mouth was suddenly dry, and his heart was pounding. He found his feet moving forward on their own, till he was standing by the bed, looking down at the lounging figure there. Spike eyed him warily, waiting for the blow – Riley didn't doubt Spike could move much faster than he could swing, anyway. "That's not why I'm here," he said, simply.
"Oh? Why, then?"
He looked away from Spike's gaze, found his eyes focused on a nipple, hard in the chilly air. It distracted him for a minute, idly wondering why temperature would affect a vampire like that, how the body managed to retain bits and pieces of its humanity. The silence dragged on, Riley's eyes downcast and his body tensed.
"Hey, soldier boy. Mind telling me why you woke me up so early? Paying gig, or this a social call?"
Riley brushed his hand against Spike's arm, just the merest, gentlest touch. When he spoke, his voice was almost calm. "Back home – you can't ever...everybody hates them. Queers. You don't know what it's like, how they're treated. And it's worse in the Army. So, you know, maybe there's something wrong with you, but you can fix it. But I can't." It came spilling out of him, days, months, years, of pent-up words all forcing their way out at once. "I love Buffy, but I can't help how I feel when you...and it's worse, it's worse than ever because you're a hostile, and I'm not stupid, you'd kill us all if you got the chance. I just..." He trailed off, voice failing.
Then Spike laughed. Not an evil laugh, or a snide one, but a genuinely shocked belly laugh. He slid from between the sheets, raised himself to his knees, a hands-breadth from Riley. "All that posturing, all that macho crap you've been slinging my way – had nothing to do with Buffy, did it? It's because you want me, don't you?"
Riley could feel Spike's breath cool against his cheek. He shivered, fear and desire tangling together in his belly. "Yeah," he said.
A smile curled Spike's lips, and he leaned closer, his bare skin almost touching Riley. His voice was a near-whisper, dark and hoarse. "Thought you were staring at my ass and not Buffy's." He laughed, and Riley felt his cheeks flush. Spike laughed again, and traced a finger along his jaw. "Look at you, blushing like a schoolgirl." He glanced slyly up from under his lashes, let his finger linger while he spoke. "So you came here, what, in hopes that I've been harboring some deep, unrealized need to suck your dick?"
Anger colored Riley's face; he jerked away from the bed, only to be stopped by Spike's hand on his arm, Spike's body pressed against his. "Maybe I do," Spike said, and kissed him.
He'd never kissed another man, didn't realize that their lips could be soft, their skin soft under his hands, muscles tight and hard, and he was aching, heart and cock pounding with blood.
Spike pulled his lips from Riley's to trail kisses down his neck, along his ear, and his hand snaked down to stroke Riley through his fatigues, smiling at the inward gasp it caused. "Want me?" he crooned into Riley's ear. "Do you, pet? Say it, and maybe I'll get on my knees for you." Spike set his lips against the skin, whispering. "Or maybe," he said, "maybe I'll go find out what the Slayer thinks about all this." Spike grinned, his fingers dancing along Riley's side. "You won't know until you say it, though."
Riley took a deep breath, time standing still, and the universe shrunk to the small space where two bodies writhed. "Yeah," he whispered. "I do want you."
Spike shuddered against him, never saw the stake coming. As he gasped in shock and pain, Riley whispered into an ear already dissolving into dust, "April Fool."