Peaceful Easy Feeling by Criss Moody
Date: January 18th, 2001
Disclaimer: Ha, ha, very funny
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sex
Summary: Jonathan finds what he needs in Spike.
Pairing: Jonathan/Spike
Notes: Written for Improv #7 (Silver Wander Hollow Fitting). Dedicated to Immicolia
for her wonderful Naveed stories that made Jonathan come whisper in my ear.
Not betaed. Title from the song of the same name by The Eagles.
Jonathan stumbled along the road, clinging to the thought of a steaming cup of tea waiting for him at home. An odd chill hung in the air, and even though it was past sunset, a strange crimson stained, silver aura hung in the horizon near the trees. Nothing about today had been normal. He’d started the day off tired and mentally dull after a weekend of trying to ignore general feelings of foreboding. Everything was fine, nothing going on in this town except PTA meetings, zoning problems…and vampires, demons, and God knows what else that Jonathan did his damnedest to forget he knew anything about. A series of vaguely unreasonable requests, things he couldn’t really refuse because they were really just barely not part of his job description, set Jonathan’s temper on edge. But by the end of the day, his bad mood had faded into a resigned acceptance of the fact that his job sucked, his life was mediocre, and that wasn’t likely to change. Now, he just wanted to be home, with some herbal tea and his half-finished Laurell K. Hamilton book. Probably not the best choice of reading for someone who lived on a Hellmouth, but Jonathan liked reading about someone else’s grand, gruesome adventures. It made him feel connected, it made him feel real, it created a sense of fitting in with the murky madness in his hometown.
Just a few blocks from his small, one bedroom apartment, a strange clicking noise caught Jonathan’s attention. Against his better judgement, he stopped and cocked his head, listening for the location of the noise. He noticed with shock that he was just few steps from one of Sunnydale’s numerous cemeteries. What a dumb-ass, to live so close to a freakin’ cemetery and never realize it. The sound seemed distant, like it was coming from within the stone walls of the cemetery. Wise would be rushing home to the safety of a locked door. Stupid would be walking into the cemetery.
He wandered into the cemetery, clutching his backpack to his chest like a talisman against the bogeyman. From the right, the steady click grew louder, and Jonathan trepiditiously stepped that way, glancing from ground to sky in an effort to not stumble over a grave and not run into whatever was clicking. Unfortunately, he looked up when he should have looked down and went flying into a bush.
"Oi, watch it there. Gotta be careful about walking around cemeteries late at night. Awful rude to wander into someone’s home and then trip over ‘em."
Completely frozen by the sarcastic, British voice belonging to the leg that he’d tripped over, Jonathan held his breath and waited for something dire to happen. After several long moments of breathing in dirt, he rose and angled his head back to look at the owner of the leg. The limb was clad in tight black denim, and the rest of the person was wearing all black as well. An unlit cigarette dangled out of the blonde man’s mouth. Repeatedly, he lifted a silver Zippo to the cigarette and flicked the little igniter, producing no flame but a distinct click instead.
Jonathan looked at the man slumped against the crypt, wondering why someone would be sitting in a cemetery after dark, trying to smoke, and why he, Jonathan, even cared. Running away now that he’d been stupid enough to go into a cemetery at this hour just to find what the ‘click’ was seemed like a brilliant idea. He got as far as raising to his knees when the man spoke again.
"Can’t even be alone in my own bleedin’ home. Can’t get a moment of peace and quiet anywhere. Everywhere I go, she’s there, mockin’ me, laughin’ at me. That’s all I want, peace." The man paused. "Alright, that and the Slayer’s head on a platter."
The Slayer? Buffy? A perfect, photographic image of the petite girl flooded Jonathan’s brain. Great. Just super fucking wonderful. He couldn’t even get himself home from work without running into someone who clearly knew the oh-so-perfect, oh-so-beautiful Ms. Buffy Summers. Only people who knew her could hate her that much. A quiet grunt of disgust from Jonathan roused the other man’s attention and his bleary gaze finally registered that he was no longer moping alone.
"Eh, who are you?" Cornflower blue eyes peered at Jonathan. Something about the intense regard made him distinctly uncomfortable. It was as if an animal were eyeing him as a potential meal. The part of Jonathan’s brain made to keep him from harm whacked him upside the head. Duh. This guy was probably a vampire. That would explain why he knew that Buffy was the Slayer, though why a random vampire would know the Slayer’s name was anybody’s guess, and it would also clear up why Jonathan felt like a prime side of beef at the moment.
"Uh, er, no one, really. Just passing through. I’ll go now." Jonathan nearly leapt for the entrance, only to fall back down to the ground when a pale hand shot out to grab his leg. Once again he hit dirt, tasting the dry, cold earth on his bottom lip. Anxious dread crept over the young man as an unsteady hand used his leg to haul its body up Jonathan’s, ending with a ghostly pale, but handsome face over Jonathan’s ruddy, flushed visage. When Jonathan squirmed, he realized with no small horror that this quite possibly undead creature had its hips pressed tightly into his own. A cold, lengthy weight pressed into the hollow space between Jonathan’s dick and his hip.
This was bad. This was really bad. Somehow a bad day had turned into a possibly deathly night. Jonathan closed his eyes and prayed that at the very least, he wouldn’t end up a vampire. Strange, but he was a lot more concerned about being in close contact with a vampire than with an erect, handsome male.
"Where you think you’re goin’? Huh? Damned humans…if they’re not laughin’ at me, they’re runnin’ from me. Hahhah, run from Spike, the neutered vamp, can’t bite a bloody thing."
Baffled, Jonathan stared up at the vampire. An experimental sniff told Jonathan that Spike had recently consumed a large amount of alcohol….whiskey, probably. Didn’t smell like beer or wine and whisky did have a distinctive smell. A wet, cool tongue tickling his ear interrupted Jonathan’s thoughts on the level of Spike’s sobriety. The young man’s mouth opened at the unexpected caress and the vampire took the opportunity to slip his tongue in, finding and suckling the warm wiggling flesh within. Soft grunts filled the air as Spike nursed at Jonathan’s mouth. Jonathan for his part felt every bad part of his day slip away into the mind melting perfection of that cold mouth and tongue. He had a dead man frenching him, and it was beautiful. It was absolutely wonderful.
As Jonathan began to actively participate in the kiss, running his hands down the lean back of his partner and rubbing his hips up in unconscious invitation, Spike broke the kiss and began to speak again.
"See now, it’s not like I haven’t helped the bitch. I told her about Captain Cardboard’s little excursions as an all you can eat vampire buffet. I figured out that the witch’s woman wasn’t a demon. Don’t I get any credit, anything? If she’d just see me, admit I’m here, I could…"
Jonathan interrupted the maudlin diatribe. "Look, Mr., uh, Spike, no offense, but if I wanted to hear about the Slayer, I wouldn’t be on the ground in a cemetery lying under a fairly attractive, uh, dead man."
A degree of clarity entered the vampire’s startling eyes. "Fairly attractive, eh?" He ground his growing erection into Jonathan’s. With a loud groan, Jonathan met the challenge by taking the and directing the vampire’s mouth back to his. Teeth, lips, and tongue met and clashed, licking and nipping at everything they could reach.
Jonathan’s skin felt hot and itchy, like a fire rode just under the surface. He scratched and tore at his lover’s clothing, needing the coolness he knew would lie beneath the monochromatic fabric and leather duster. Eager to oblige the willing human, Spike sent the duster and black tee-shirt beneath it flying into the bushes. With shaking hands, Jonathan ripped off his white Oxford button-up. Panting, shaking, Jonathan reached out for Spike, grasping the vampire’s muscled, deliciously cool upper arms in his hands. Lost in the kiss, the young man barely noticed Spike’s hand slipping between their lower bodies. A tight, firm grip on his dick broke the fog in Jonathan’s head and his head fell back to the ground, surprised by the touch. He whimpered as Spike rubbed the base of his hand hard against the burgeoning flesh. Suddenly, the loose boxers and khakis felt like some kind of torture device. Eager for more touch, Jonathan put his own hand at his waist, and made short work of the belt and zipper. It seemed to take hours, but in moments, Jonathan’s hot mortal flesh, the head of his cock purple and wet with need, lay exposed. But rather than immediately taking Jonathan in hand, Spike first yanked his own pants down. His mouth half-open, his tongue meeting his lips, Spike took Jonathan’s hand up to his mouth, slurping eagerly on the digits. The cold wetness felt delicious over the dry painful heat of Jonathan’s skin. Spike released the fingers with loud pop, turned around and presented his bubble-shaped ass to Jonathan. Momentarily startled by this action, and just a little bit frightened, some of the urgency seeped out of the young man.
For a brief, clear moment, he knew that he was almost naked in a cemetery at night, having sex with a demon. For an even shorter moment, he cared.
With a speed he hadn’t known he was capable of, Jonathan dropped to his knees before the luscious gift presented to him and placed a soft kiss on one of the white cheeks. A low grumble and a short thrust backwards let him know Spike wasn’t waiting for romance. He wanted to fuck.
Jonathan placed his dry hand on one side of Spike’s ass, and hesitated before placing the other at the winking entrance to Spike’s body. He wiggled the tip of his first finger into Spike, moaning when the vampire flexed his inner muscles and the finger eased all the way in. It felt warm in there, like Spike wasn’t completely dead inside. He withdrew the finger, unsure whether he should do more, when an illicit thought popped into his mind. Giving into the temptation, he delicately licked the dark rose entrance, relishing the mewls coming from Spike. The vampire bucked against his face, begging for more contact. Idly, Jonathan wondered if Spike’s insides tasted spicier than the outside. Plunging his tongue into Spike, he discovered a heady mixture of musk, copper, and an indefinable spice tangled up in a heady aroma of Spike. He worked his tongue into Spike, bumping against a small protrusion of flesh that made Spike yelp with surprise.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
Sounded like an invitation if Jonathan had ever heard one. On extremely weak knees, he lurched up, bracing himself on Spike. He used his wet hand to lube his erection as best he could. With unsteady hands he directed his cock into Spike, popping the tip inside the tight ring of muscle. And stopped.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even remember why he needed to breathe. Oxygen? Huh? After a blissful moment, his body’s natural defenses kicked and Jonathan gasped, dragging a huge breathe in and breathing back out as he allowed himself to sink into Spike. If he could have, he would have stayed there forever, just barely there, tight, dry, and impossibly lovely. He felt…needed. Not loved, not wanted, but needed.
Needed would do.
His hips danced on their own and Jonathan let them go where they wanted to, plunging repeatedly into the silken depths. A wet flood of something against his cock set of a warning bell, and he slowed his pumping hips. The acrid, coppery smell of blood hit his nose, freezing Jonathan in place. To his shame, he felt himself grow impossibly harder, the skin on his dick stretching to accommodate the increased flow of blood. In the space of a heartbeat, he heard a hungry growl reverberate out of Spike’s chest, saw the vampire sniff the air, and remembered that his lover had bitterly complained of being neutered. He withdrew from Spike and dragged his hand down his swollen, blood smeared cock. He hissed at the feel, and fought to keep his orgasm back. His eyes glazed as Spike latched onto his fingers and he rammed back into the vampire, feeling the explosion hit him moments later. Intense pleasure seized him, sending him shuddering into Spike. The contractions around his cock felt so agonizingly good that it hurt, and Jonathan’s world fell black for a moment.
Breathing hard as he leaned over Spike, Jonathan lapped at the beads of sweat on the vampire’s neck. He winced as Spike abruptly jerked his hips away from Jonathan, leaving the young man to sway and finally collapse onto the ground. The alabaster pale of Spike’s body glowed in the darkness, and Jonathan’s mouth watered at the sight of the steely erection jutting out of a nest of dark curls. He fell at Spike, sucking the tip of the cock into his mouth as he used Spike’s shapely ass to anchor himself. Tasted like saltwater and sweet, cold flesh, a faint aroma of cigarettes from wiry curls brought a happy sigh out of Jonathan’s chest.
Jonathan’s brain felt fragmented, cracked into a spidery mass of confused thought. A calm, rational section recalled the time in 10th grade when Larry, biggest dumbest jock on campus, had taken a quiet moment in the locker room shower to thrust Jonathan’s face into his glistening, smelly groin. This manhood smelled different, not warm, cold, and Larry had nearly gagged Jonathan with his cock, heedlessly ramming it down the inexperienced throat. That act taught him one thing; he liked it. He liked sucking on the warm, silken flesh, feeling the blood pump in the vessels under the skin, tasting everything. Suck a man’s cock and you will know him. You will know his hates and desires, what he loves and what he is willing to do. Sucking cock gave you power, something Jonathan lacked in his life. For a few, sacred moments, he knelt at the altar of sex and held life in his mouth. In those moments, the owner of the cock would promise him anything if only he would keep the incredible, suctioning heat going.
Spike’s cock wasn’t the first he’d sucked, and it wouldn’t be the last. He ran his fingers through the crack of Spike’s ass, inserting one finger into the tiny hole there. A groan, and a gush of come and Jonathan almost passed out from the surge of power he felt cascade through his body. Right now, he owned Spike. He nursed at the cock, drawing out all that Spike would give him, only releasing the vampire when the creature swatted at his head.
The vampire stumbled back, while Jonathan stayed on his knees, absolutely still, eyes closed. He felt a hand touch his shoulder, but he ignored it. The moment was gone. If Spike wanted to eat him, he would, but Jonathan didn’t think he could. Now he wanted to relish the salty, naughty taste of come lingering on his tongue, and enjoy the remnants of power eddying through his mind. Now he knew what it was like to give as well as to receive. A different kind of power, but a delicious one.
He heard Spike mumble as the vampire walked away, accompanied by scuffles and the occasional thump. After awhile, his body chilled from the night air, Jonathan rose. He slowly righted his clothing as best he could and picked up his back-pack. Calmly, he walked out of the cemetery, his body desiring one thing.
A nice hot cup of tea.