Spike sprawled in front of the telly when he got back and opened a beer: nothing else to drink now the bastards had lost him his blood. He glared at the screen, kicking sulkily at the carpet. Neighbours just didn't have the right vibe for a vampire's sulk. For God's sake, it didn't even have Eastenders' bodycount.
Suddenly there came a volley of sharp raps at the door. Usually this would be a welcome distraction (if only for the novelty value – Spike hadn't had someone actually knock since he'd set up in Sunnydale). But Spike could guess who it was, and his reaction to Spike's little adventure would no doubt be 'less than pleased'.
The knocks kept coming and Spike could actually feel Harry getting angrier: the smell of it was coming from the hall. Harry wasn't giving up. Spike studiously ignored the part of himself that liked that, that was flattered at how bothered Harry was and that felt a naughty little thrill at the thought of Harry's anger.
He'd better open the door. Because – because he wasn't going away, and the noise was getting annoying.
He stamped over to the door and threw it open. Predictably, there stood Harry, tall and dark and angry, his green eyes glowing with emotion. His lips were tight. The moment the door was fully open, Harry stepped past him Spike into the little hall.
Spike swallowed, turning to face him; then he lifted his chin. "What?" he snarled. "Come to tell me I've been a naughty boy?"
"Yes," Harry said calmly. His green eyes were cool and implacable as marble.
Spike snarled something – even he didn't know what – and tried to shoulder past, back to his telly and Ramsay Street. Before he'd gone a foot Harry had grabbed his biceps and swung him round, slamming him up against the wall. It should have been like Buffy doing it – God knows he was used to hero-types smacking him around – but it wasn't, and not just because Harry was tall and broad and dark, somehow becoming the whole world while Buffy was the bright light illuminating it. Because whatever Harry's wants or needs, he wasn't desperate or clinging on, brittle instead of strong. He didn't forget that Spike had feelings, whatever his lack of a soul. He didn't forget that Spike needed things, too.
Spike relaxed into the hold automatically, though he could feel his eyes still flaring with the old gold of the demon's gaze.
"Now look, Spike. I told you to keep your head down, and I told you why you needed to do it. The Aurors are aware of you now, they're looking for you. I'll make sure they don't arrest you, but for fuck's sake, Spike – getting into a fight with three wizards isn't keeping your head down."
Spike pouted. Unfortunately, it didn't work like it usually had with Angelus to get him out of trouble. "Wasn't my fault," he protested. "The wankers started with me, not the other way round."
Harry raised a sceptical black brow. "And you just calmly walked away, did you?" Spike glared, going hot all over with embarrassment and lust at the thought that his foibles were exposed, that Harry knew him so well already. "I don't want to hear about you at work again, Spike." Finally Harry stepped away, but Spike knew better than to move from his position, flat against the wall. Harry reached out and curled a hand over Spike's nape, pulling his head down a little. "You're being punished for this."
Spike shuddered a little in his grip, but he didn't fight. He hadn't come to London looking for someone to belong to, but he seemed to have found him anyway. He let Harry lead him, hand still on the back of his neck, to the old armchair. Harry sat down on it, and patted his lap. "Come on. Take the duster off and pull your jeans down – it's a spanking for you."
Spike's lips tightened at the indignity, but he remembered what had happened the last time he disobeyed. Taking off the duster actually helped: there went Spike, there went the attitude and the shell. Pulling down his jeans, though; that was different. Harry was eyeing his arse like he was salivating, and it was awkward as hell trying to position himself over Harry's knees with his jeans round his thighs.
But that was the point, wasn't it? Making him feel awkward, and embarrassed. God, there was nothing quite like the indignity of being over someone's lap, arse raised for some well-deserved slaps. He wriggled a little on Harry's lap, pressing his hot face into the arm of the chair.
To Spike's surprise, Harry didn't immediately get stuck into spanking him, the way Angelus always had. Instead, he started rubbing his arse, smoothing his warm hand over the skin, rubbing fingers softly into his cleft. Spike moaned softly, loving the soft handling, even as Harry's iron voice chastised him.
"I told you specifically not to get in trouble with the Aurors, Spike. Not even a week and you've already disobeyed me. I'm disappointed in you. I thought you'd do better, but apparently I was wrong. You're going to learn."
Spike squirmed a little, breath catching at Harry's tone. He felt a tendril of fear work its way through his heart: and some guilt, too. He tried to tell himself off sternly for this Pavlovian reaction, but then –
SMACK. Harry's warm, hard hand came down on his bare right arse cheek. Spike jumped at the bright, hot flare of pain: Harry's soft touches had left his skin so sensitised that even one hard slap had him biting his lip. And Harry didn't stop there.
At first he enjoyed it: spanking was just right for the sort of pleasure-pain he enjoyed most. Harry's hard hand came down, and down again, repetitive, strong strokes; Spike hardened quickly and was soon left thrusting against Harry's hard thigh with each blow. Each spank sent heat flaring through him.
But then Harry began to speak, and his tone made it impossible to forget that this was not for fun.
"You will never disobey me again. If you do I'll punish you." He swatted Spike's arse at each word, humiliating him with the lighter, almost contemptuous touches. But then the spanks hardened again, and they kept coming, and Spike wished to God they would stop.
"How dare you defy me, Spike? If I give you orders they're for a good reason!" And after that Harry stopped talking, just spanked him and spanked him and spanked him, until Spike's arse and thighs were burning and he was sure they must be so red and he was sniffling into the cloth and writhing under each blow and wailing at the hurt and his cock was so hard it was dripping.
Finally, Harry slowed, and stopped. Spike lay limply over his knees, damp face against his trousers, and panted. Harry's fingers were trailing over his burning arse cheeks; Spike whined at the heat.
"Get up."
Spike went limp for a moment in relief, then struggled up.
"Right, over my lap the other way."
He laughed at Spike's expression. "Did you think that was the end of it? Oh no, my boy, you're going to learn good and well not to defy me. So you'll lie over my knee in the other direction, and my left hand can have a go at spanking obedience into you."
Spike whined and lay down, feeling horribly exposed as Harry took the opportunity, first, to strip his t-shirt and jeans from him. Then the hand came down again, reigniting the pain in his arse and thighs, knowing so exactly where to smack for the greatest pain – oh, that spot where his arse met his thighs was aching – this had to stop.
"Please stop, Harry," he snivelled, trying to sound beaten down: which wasn't hard, considering how he was feeling. "Please, I'm sorry."
The spanking paused, and Spike felt a moment of hope before –
Smack!
The spanks were harder than any before, crashing down on his poor arse, and Spike cried out.
"Don't you dare try to trick me, brat. Do it again and we'll try a cane."
The swats kept coming, and Spike was really crying now, and he couldn't stop his feet kicking like some fucking kid and then it stopped.
After a moment, he dared to glance up.
"I'm sorry, Spike. But it's for your own good."
Spike snorted wetly. "I've heard that before."
"Spike, what do you think would happen if the Aurors arrested you? You have to learn to obey me – in this more than anything else, because if you don't you'll get hurt. Don't let that happen, Spike."
The undeniable emotion in Harry's voice made Spike pause. Harry really was worried for him; he didn't want him to be hurt. And that made his spirits rise so high that he didn't care, for a moment, how much his arse was aching.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I won't do it again. Really." He sniffed, and managed to choke back the remaining tears.
And then he felt hands on his body, and they weren't hurting him this time: they lifted him and helped him settle, sitting on Harry's lap, facing him. He gave a little grunt of pain when his arse came down, shifting; Harry chuckled.
"Sorry I've been such a wanker," he said sincerely, meeting Harry's eyes. "I didn't... I'm not used to this. To people actually meaning it when they say they're spanking me for my own good."
Harry smiled, amused. "I know." His big warm hands were rubbing soothingly up Spike's back, and he couldn't decided if it was more comforting or arousing. "I know it's been hard. But I'm not like that." A hand went to Spike's chin, raising it. "I wouldn't blow up your home. I'll be your home, if you'll let me."
Spike moaned, helplessly, at the words: the words that seemed to soothe his non-existent soul, that filled up spaces emptied by all the different creatures who'd hurt him. He leant in for the kiss, diving into it, never wanting to come up for air. Their lips slid together and their tongues tangled; Spike gave a small, broken moan when he felt Harry's lubricated fingers brush against his hole. He raised his arse, giving implicit permission, and moaned into Harry's mouth as he was lovingly prepared.
Then Harry's warm hands were on his thighs, lifting him up. Spike sat himself slowly on Harry's cock, biting his lower lip at the strain of stretching for it even as their eyes stayed locked. When he'd managed it, he started moving. He fucked himself, loving Harry's hard cock inside him and the way Harry's hands were free to touch him; loving that now, he couldn't stop Harry from skating his hands over his body, or squeezing his burning arse. Harry's hands came down, holding his hips tightly and controlling his motion; Spike flung back his head, gasping, as he was slowly drawn down Harry's cock, body shuddering at the prostate stimulation. Then one warm hand went to the small of his back, fingers splayed, keeping him close and safe.
Spike kept moving, and felt Harry start to fuck back as much as he could, pushing his cock still further inside. "You're gonna be mine, now," Harry muttered. "Can you smell me after I'm gone, Spike? Can other vampires smell my mark on you?"
"Yes, yes," Spike moaned against his neck, squirming as Harry tugged his nipples. "They all know... know I'm yours..."
"And you know? Know that you're mine to fuck, mine to suck, mine to keep and stroke and punish and hurt, know you'll never fight me because I'll look after you? Know that you belong to me?"
"I... I..." Spike was panting, eyes glazed; he couldn't speak, couldn't think, too overwhelmed by everything that was happening to reply. Then Harry squeezed his arse and clamped down on his neck, and he was sucking and squeezing and fucking owning Spike and it was all he could do to howl "yes!" before he was –
Coming, untouched, and the world was turning white and he was clenching around Harry's cock and it was so good, and then Harry toppled after him and they collapsed together, breathing onto each other's neck and slicking sweat over each other and holding close, Spike feeling small and safe and sleepy on Harry's lap.
Then Harry did something Spike had never imagined he would do. He tipped his head back, myopic green eyes intense on him. "So, my Spike... are you hungry?"
Spike felt his eyes go wide. "I – I – "
"You must be. You lost that blood you bought, didn't you? And you're mine to take care of. So feed from me."
Spike made an unidentifiable sound: half helpless moan, half predatory growl, and buried his face in Harry's neck.
The moment he tasted Harry's blood was... indescribable. He'd never drunk a wizard's blood before, not once in his entire existence, and it was... fuck. It was like swimming in tequila, it was like spinning in a star, it was having such creative, destructive power singing inside him and ringing in his ears. And the taste of it; the pride and possession and lust and love Harry was feeling, and all for him. He pressed closer, plastered to Harry's chest, sucking and sucking and hearing himself making "mmm" sounds. Harry was stroking his hair, sending shivers down his spine, and fuck even Slayer's blood hadn't been like this.
He had to force himself to stop.
Finally he pulled off, licking his fangs to get the last of the blood before retracting them. "That was..."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Spike found himself being moved; Harry was standing and leading him to the bedroom. His head was fuzzy with orgasm and blood, and he let Harry take him by the hand, and lay him on the bed. When he was properly conscious again, the afterglow dying down, he was in his bed on his side, Harry facing him, and both of them equally naked.
Spike blinked sleepily, smiling when Harry did. Harry's smile was indulgent, and his intense green eyes were soft. He reached out to touch Spike's hair, and Spike even managed not to be embarrassed by the poodle foofiness.
"Hey, shouldn't you be runnin' off about now?" he said, voice going slow and slurred with tiredness. "Not that I want you to or anything, but don't you have your hero duties ta be goin' about?"
"No," he said quietly. "Heroic duty's not all it's cracked up to be. You're important too, Spike. And I'd rather do you than my duty any day."
Spike snorted with laughter, and shut his eyes to better concentrate on the feeling of Harry's long fingers stroking over his scalp. A purr began working its way up his throat.
"Besides, I've got a duty to you too. This is what vampire families do, isn't it – sleep together during the day?"
"Yeah." Spike felt warmth curling through his belly, like the heat of virgin's blood. "You my new family, then?"
"I am if you want to play Daddy with me." Harry reached out and tugged Spike into his arms. Spike made irritable little sounds at being moved, but let Harry arrange him as he liked: having his head on Harry's shoulder, his own shoulders encircled by Harry's strong arm, was nice, anyway. "You belong with me now. You know that, don't you?"
Spike nestled closer, with a murmured not-answer. Declarations of love had never worked out for him well in the past; much better to stick to being a man of action, like Harry. He pressed a small kiss to Harry's neck, and felt Harry's arms tighten.
He drifted off to sleep in the grasp of Harry's warm, immovable embrace.
FIN
