Title: As Wrong As It Gets
Author: Whyyy
Rating: R
Category: Crap
Summary: SpikexVicious, which is…as wrong as it gets, in my humble opinion. Hence the title.
Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop or any of the characters.
Warning: So…wow, it appears I have not enraged anyone enough to get booted off That's just amazing. Scary amazing. I mean, good God, there are some really tolerant people on the net. And since I'm still here, I might as well milk it for all its worth. So here's another chapter. One during which I realized I forgot lubricant, which I have learned (through reading other yaoi fanfics because I RESEARCH and TOIL to make sure my fanfics are of the finest quality) is rather important. So I fixed it. Sort of. Okay, I already warned you people about the graphic wrong-ness in the previous chapter, so read or don't read at your discretion. Ho hum…other warnings…oh yeah. I don't own Star Wars. George Lucas does, I believe, and he can keep it. Sorensen was the first last name I found lying on my desk; I do not own that either.
authenticpoppy – Haha well that's good. Laughter is the best medicine…or something… Thanks for the review!
Nis-chan – Yaaaay!! My fic is loveable!
Shae Enspira – Heh well I warned you. And c'mon, who doesn't want to know EXACTLY how Spike's man-parts look? P
cowgirlnoir – Yeah you're definitely right about the 'tenement' versus 'tenet' thing. Good call! I can't bear to re-read this craziness after I write it, so there are probably a lot of typos. I apologize ahead of time. But glad you like the fic nonetheless. And thank you for not reporting me :).
Tokyo Jazz – I shall gladly write more. Here's another chapter just for you!
Vegetasbride1669 – Thank you kindly. Hope you like this latest installation!
Ami-kun22 – Weird senses of humor are the best. I shall indeed keep up the work. Thanks!
narcoleptic shishkabob – w00t I'm a favorite! So honored!! Thaaaank yoouuu!
Chapter 5 – The Wrong-ness Uses Star Wars on the Side of Evil
Back to where we left Spike anally raping Vicious, well, Spike was enjoying himself rather heartily as he slammed his swollen member into Vicious's tight, heated opening. Vicious, on the other hand, was in some serious pain, as he felt himself stretched to the limit. White dots of pain danced Hawaiian hulas before his eyes. So he cried like a little girl. But no, this is Vicious. Badass, hard-core killer Vicious. No way in Hell was he going to take this. After all, if he did, logically speaking, he'd get seriously damaged, and then the story would have nowhere to go. So he said, "Hey Spike, how 'bout some lubricant?"
And Spike thought for a moment, and said, "Lube is for the weak."
And then Vicious gritted his teeth and said, "I want some lube, damnit."
And then Spike looked down at Vicious, looking so sweetly submissive, crystal tears quivering on the brink of falling off long lashes, and a strange pang shot through his heart. He was once my friend, but we're enemies now. Why should I care if I hurt him? This is purely physical need. Once this is over, I'll never think of him again. So…why…why does it bother me that he's not enjoying this? Why is that I want…I actually want to pleasure him? …Of course, these were purely Rhetorical Questions with a capital 'R' and 'Q'. These Rhetorical Questions would never actually lead to the discovery of a deeper wellspring of overflowing emotions. Nope, no way in Hell. Or anywhere else. At least for now.
But, enough digression. The lack of lube was getting to Vicious, so he snarled with his last torn and shredded and vivisected shred of dignity, "If you don't give me lube, it'll mean…uhh, you eat poo."
Well, that cinched it. Let it not be said that Spike Spiegel ate poo. So Spike sighed and shrugged and pulled some lubricant out of his jacket. From wherever he magically pulls out his gun for cool action scenes. It's possible. Really. And then he opened the lubricant and spread the thin gel all over his cock. For that would be the next most logical thing to do, other than coming to his senses and leaving Vicious alone. Next, because it would be a damn shame to leave any hot details out of this scenario, Spike used his fingers, still coated with the lube, to prod Vicious's entrance. Entrance, as in for none other than Spike's turgid, pulsating length (in case there was ANY confusion); turgid, as in the healthy state of plant cells; pulsating, as in a light saber. One of the green ones, because green is a soothing color.
Sadly, Vicious was not soothed, and he groaned and shuddered as he felt Spike's digits slowly enter him, rubbing against the tight ring of muscle. His moans only enflamed the sensual fire coursing through Spike's veins. Quickly, Spike extracted his fingers, and replaced them once more with his lightsaber, and more tears sprung to Vicious's eyes. But fear not, they were manly tears. This time, because there was good oily lube-y goodness, Spike was able to shove his lightsaber fast and rough to the hilt, so his balls slapped against Vicious's firm globes. A hoarse cry escaped Vicious's lips even as he arched against Spike. Spike quickly reached around and fisted Vicious's lightsaber, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Which is probably a grand feat, come to think of it. It's like being able to tap your head and rub your stomach in rhythm. Or maybe the other way around. Anyway, you probably couldn't do it.
Well, this stroking business certainly was pleasurable for Vicious, and soon he had lost himself in the sweet sensation of Spike's warm hand on his lightsaber, sending searing heat and soaring titillation—the best English word known to man—sparking through his body, pushing backwards against Spike's rocking, aching to be penetrated deeper. Every fiber of his body craved Spike's touch, and Spike seemed to sense this as he bent forward to plant soft strong kisses on Vicious's back and shoulders, nipping the pliant and flushed skin. Vicious, still manly, sobbed, "Spiiiikeee…I need it…more, please…". The urgency and pleading in that voice caused Spike's heart to make a strange jump. He quickly shifted so he could position better, then rammed down hard into Vicious so that the tip of his lightsaber struck Vicious's prostate dead-on. After all, Spike has always had divine bounty hunter aim. And, get this: Vicious's prostate didn't disintegrate like most people struck by a lightsaber. No, instead, it did a little dance and squealed, "YAY!", and sent more bolts of pure ecstasy tingling through Vicious.
Since all masterpieces of literature have profound dialogue, Vicious finally was sent over the edge as Spike gave his lightsaber a particularly long and hard squeeze, so he threw back his head and screamed, "SPIIIKKEE!!" as jets of his passion ejected from his lightsaber, coating Spike's hand. Truly, his lightsaber would make any Jedi green with envy. Because green is also the color of jealousy.
Sadly, Vicious was not jealous. He was too busy sagging bonelessly on the car as Spike climaxed inside him, marking him as his forever. A…really creepy and disturbing concept. So is rape. But who cares? Not you.
Exhausted, Vicious couldn't help drifting into a satiated sleep. Slowly, Spike withdrew from Vicious's warm, sweat-soaked body and stared down at his unconscious angel. His…murderous, manipulative, egotistical, bastardly angel, who basically isn't anything close to an angel, but love is blind and incredibly sappy and unoriginal.
…wait…did he just say love? Oh GOD, he, Spike Spiegel, was in love with Vicious Sorenson. …wait…did he just say Sorenson? What the hell, that's not Vicious's last name. But it did sound better than "in love with Vicious", didn't it? Otherwise, it sounds like he's in love with an adjective.
These thoughts were not helping Spike put his clothes back on, so he stopped thinking them because it was sort of cold now that the sex was over. He considered putting Vicious's clothes back on for him since the guy was out like a light, but Vicious really looked good in the buff and clearly the cold wasn't bothering him. Hmm, maybe he really was an angel. A cold-impervious angel. Wouldn't that be ironic. Apparently, Spike's mind wanders greatly after sex.
Sooo what to do now? Spike pondered for a moment, then decided he might as well take Vicious back with him. This was probably not going to be the good math when Vicious woke up, but again, that's l'amour. Plus he had to introduce his new beau to Jet, Faye, Ed, and Ein. Oh ho ho ho. That's a serious cliffhanger right there.