All About Spike

Nice Guy
By Colleen

Slash. Can't believe I wrote slash. I know, I'll blame Kristen. And, and... chen. That's right.

Dark, but at least it's not about Beneath You.

Though it may be indicative of Petrie issues, and the horse Riley rode out on.

“Got any more?” Riley tipped back the bottle, letting the last drop splash on his tongue. “You must have more.”

“No more.” Spike sank back in his chair, the throbbing from the wound in his chest abating with the glow of the liquor. “And I reckon you’ve had enough. Your words ‘r usually a little less slurred, soldier boy.”

Riley staggered to his feet and looked around the crypt. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.” He continued with the chosen topic of discussion. “You know why neither of us’ll ever have Buffy. Not really. ‘Cause I’m too evil, and you’re too nice.”

“Nice.” Riley’s voice grew cold, his eyes narrowing. “All my life it’s the same damn thing. You’re nice, Riley. You’re like a brother to me, Riley, cause you’re so nice. You’ll never be the soldier you should be, cause you’re too fucking nice.” He pulled Spike out of the chair. “I am so sick of being nice.”

“Hey. Watch it.” Spike tried to pull out of Riley’s grasp, and was rewarded with a punch to the jaw. He wanted to hit back. Knew he couldn’t. “So, what happened to our little bonding moment, then?” There was no lightening the mood.

“I hate you. You know that, right? You’re a waste of space. A thing. Good for one thing.” His face was flushed, and he panted heavily. “I’m not a monster, eh? Not a bit? Undo your jeans.”

“What? You’ve gotta be...”

Riley pulled a stake from his jacket pocket. “Undo your jeans, and bend over there, against the back of the chair.” He held the object against Spike’s throat. “This one isn’t plastic.”

Spike’s jaw set, but without a word he worked the buttons of his fly, pulled down his pants, and braced himself against the back of the chair.

Riley undid his zipper and stood behind his enemy. “Buffy has the pinkest nipples I’ve ever seen. You know that? Of course you don’t.” He worked himself with one hand, growing hard. “And when she comes, she makes a little gasping sound in her throat.” He kept the stake in his left hand, reaching around Spike’s chest, the point almost pressing into his t-shirt. “You’ll never know that. That feeling.” He spread the vampire’s legs apart with his knee.

“You don’t want to do this, mate. You don’t...”

“I’m not your mate.” He pushed into Spike with a sudden thrust, and the vampire let out an involuntary scream. “Yeah. Scream for me.” He pumped in and out, ignoring Spike’s angry tears. “She screams for me.” With one last thrust he came, pushing his forefinger into the open wound in Spike’s chest. “She screams.”

He pulled back and did up his pants. Spike slumped onto the floor, his arms wrapped around his chest. He started to chuckle.

“What do you have to laugh about, Hostile 17?”

Spike’s face contorted in a sneer. “Just that Buffy and I have something in common now.”

Riley kicked him.

“No, not that.” Spike looked up at Riley, eyes blazing with hate. “We both know you’re no Angel.”

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