Summary: Xander's on the prowl. He finds exactly what he's looking for. Want take have.
Notes: Part one was a response to last Thursday's kinky prompt here. Part two is new. There will be a part three...
Warnings: Moderate BDSM kink.
Word count: 3400-ish
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I claim no ownership and am making no money.
Xander was in the tight leather pants and the boots, and trying not to feel ridiculous. He'd worn the boots many many times, enough that he knew they looked right. The pants, well, they were new. Soft leather, but form-fitting. No creases yet, no scuffs, none of the dings and worn places that would mean they were real and not just a pose, that Xander in fact knew what to do with the flogger hung in his belt.
Talk about another thing he was nervous about. He'd never taken that out in public before. But after the last hilarious-only-in-retrospect mistake, hooking up with that girl who'd thought he was into the handcuffs for the Goth thing not the watching-people-sweat-and-writhe thing, he was going for unambiguous. Unambiguous, serious, dominant, leathersex in motion. That was Xander. No doubts. Go.
And fucked if the pants didn't feel like the sexiest things he'd ever had clinging to his body. Xander ran his hands down his thighs. Yeah. Fuck, yeah.
Xander paid the cover and strode into the Bronze.
No band tonight, just a DJ. Guitar noise, blasting. Darkness, spotlights on the milling crowds. A lot of black, a lot of leather, a lot of flashing metal. College students, a couple of high school kids with anxious and eager faces, adults with more intent faces. Women in groups or paired with men, a few paired with other women. Scattered single men. Men dressed in extreme versions of the uniform, vests and knee-high boots. Giggling tourists. But mostly college kids in goth black and cheap bangles, grinding on the dancefloor.
Xander ignored them all. This had the makings of another bust. Nobody to meet, nobody serious to play with. Never mind any hope of a longer-term thing. He really needed to get a working car so he could drive to LA. He mounted the steps to the balcony. Sometimes he found people up there, people with the hungry look in their eyes that said they needed something deeper than the flash. Men, women, he didn't care.
Quick scan. Ten people, maybe, mixed. All of them older. Wait. Was that? Yes. Giles. Leaning on the railing, looking down at the dancing crowd. He held a beer bottle in his hand, but wasn't drinking it. Giles, here?
He looked out of place. One step to the left of everyone there, clothes not quite right, expression on his face not quite right. Xander took a step closer. It was the set of the jaw that did it. Giles was annoyed by something. The music, maybe. It annoyed Xander, if he were honest about it. Too-fast too-loud death metal was the price he paid for leather nights at the Bronze.
Giles was wearing harness boots, at least, boots Xander had never seen on him before, peeking out from under the paint-stained jeans. And a black shirt, though the signals there were left of center because it was long-sleeved and had three buttons at the neck. Boots and belt and jeans were the concessions Giles had made to the leather dresscode. But there was also no air of poser in him. He was deadly serious about whatever he was searching the crowd for.
A stream of idiotic lines rushed through Xander's head. Fancy meeting you here. Come here often? Or even, Buy me a drink, boy. Though maybe Giles would be trying that last line on him. Top or bottom? Xander studied him. No conventional signals. Which was fine with him. That was bullshit for tourists anyway. But he needed to know.
No, he didn't.
If he wanted Giles, he would take him. And oh yes, Xander did want. The idea of that man, sweating and writhing below him: oh yes. That glare melted, that control stripped, that body shuddering: oh yes.
Xander strode up to Giles, and stopped. He folded his arms. He kept his mouth shut. Giles turned, mouth open as if to speak. His eyes widened in recognition, and Xander thought he might say something for a moment. But then he closed his mouth. His eyebrows came together. Xander held himself poised and still, and waited. He watched that Giles mind work on the problem in front of him, watched emotion flash across the face as Giles took him in.
Giles's eyes were below Xander's waist. On the flogger, on the leather stretched tight across Xander's hips, across his obvious arousal. He looked up and met Xander's eyes. Xander saw his throat working as he swallowed. One breath, two, and Giles hadn't looked away. His pupils were huge, and he was breathing hard. That was fear and desire and utter longing Xander saw on his face. Exactly what he wanted.
Xander tilted his head.
Giles nodded, once, slowly. Then equally slowly, he put his hands behind his back.
Xander reached out, hooked his fingers into Giles' shirt collar, and pressed down. Giles swallowed again, cast his gaze to the floor at Xander's feet, and sank gracefully to his knees.
Xander took one swig of Giles's beer. Bitter, way bitter. Neither one of them needed that stuff tonight. Xander set it on the floor, out of Giles's reach, and forgot about it.
He stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. Giles remained on his knees, wrists crossed behind his back. Xander tugged at Giles's shirt, and he shuffled closer, until he was pressed against Xander's leg. Xander could feel how turned on he was through the jeans and the leather.
Xander let his hand roam over Giles's body. Mr Tweedy and Sarcastic, here on his knees to Xander. What a turnaround. No snippy remarks, no decorum, no guarded face. Just breath through parted lips, hot and damp on Xander's fingers. His eyes were closed. He kept swallowing. His jaw was tight, though, under Xander's exploring fingers. He'd been pissed off about something when Xander first spotted him. He hadn't released it yet.
Giles was a big guy. He hid it most of the time, Xander realized now, under jackets and baggy sweaters, with body language that minimized his height. But now, on his knees, he wasn't minimizing himself. He had broad shoulders and strong legs. The chest that Xander rested a hand on was strong. Though not gym-ripped, the way Xander was. The habits his Oxnard master had taught him at the end of a lash had stayed with him. That little layover had been most enlightening, and the year since had been good.
Sucky year for Giles, though. He'd been pretty unhappy by the end of it, lonely and restless and destroyed even more than the others by Spike's lies. His appearance here at the Bronze, on the prowl: was that a symptom of Giles getting better, or Giles getting worse? Xander studied his face, but couldn't tell. If he had to guess, though, he would guess that Giles had come here looking to be taken out of himself. Make a pickup, whip or be whipped, have sex, forget his flighty Slayer and his bare life for a night.
Xander was into this for many reasons. Most of all was the rush of watching his partners struggle to submit themselves to Xander's will, to subject their bodies to whatever Xander wished them to experience. The expressions on their faces as they felt things they'd never felt before, extremes of pleasure and pain, so impossible to distinguish. Their sweat and shudders and cries. Their gratitude afterward. This was too complicated to explain, and Xander was already tired of talking. He was impatient now. He wanted to see this man naked. Learn all his secrets. Learn what he had been looking for when he'd come here.
It had to be extreme, to get Giles here, at the Bronze, on lame-o leather night. The music shifted, and was now Nine Inch Nails. Minor improvement over metal, but still too loud. Too distracting. And the cigarette smoke was starting to bug Xander. Cloves made his throat bleed. Time for a change of venue.
"Okay. We're going to do the two minute negotiation, then get out of here to my place. I wanna be able to hear myself whip you."
Giles shifted under Xander's hand. He blinked, and opened his mouth. Xander shoved his thumb in fast, before he could say anything and ruin this. Giles was startled, but he closed his lips around it and sucked as expected.
"I'll tell you when I want you to talk. Nod or shake your head unless you absolutely need words to give me what I want. Got it?"
Giles hesitated, then nodded firmly. Okay. That was the tactic with Giles. Take charge and rush him forward. Give him no time to think. Xander pulled his thumb out and wiped it on Giles's shirt.
"Next. Your mouth is mine, your ass is mine, your cock is mine, your hands are mine. You're mine. You do what I tell you."
Eyes closed for a moment, then another nod. Xander dug his fingers into Giles's hair and pulled his head back. He made Giles look at him.
"I'm gonna use this flogger on you. And then, if I'm pleased, we'll have sex. Safely. Whether this happens once, or it's the start of something serious, you'll be satisfied tomorrow morning. That's my promise to you. Okay?"
Nod. And his face held what Xander wanted to see. Fear and anticipation. Xander smiled, a private smile. This boded well. He hoped Giles wanted back for a second round. Too many of his first-time partners hadn't. Xander had given them what they asked for, what they thought they wanted. He gave them handcuffs and the flogger, and the first stroke taught them that they'd wanted fur-lined satin cuffs and a light spanking. He didn't think Giles was one of those.
"Oh. One more thing. If I catch you trying to top from the bottom I'll stop everything and make you very sorry. Clear?"
Giles flushed, then nodded. Mixed reaction. Xander wondered if he'd push anyway, just to find out if Xander would do it. Or because he wanted Xander to do it. He'd learn if he tried it; Xander himself had learned some nice tricks from his Oxnard master. Learned them the hard way. Worry about that when it came to it.
"Pick a safeword."
Giles cleared his throat. "Vampire," he said, quietly. His voice was strained, husky.
Xander stroked his head in reward. Giles' temples were sweaty under Xander's fingers.
He stood. Giles remained on his knees. Good. Xander took a fistful of his shirt and wrapped his hand around Giles's belt. He pulled Giles to his feet in one smooth lift, and was rewarded by Giles's widened eyes and a funny little shudder. Again, good. Giles was in for more surprises.
Xander shifted his hand down and gripped Giles's balls through the jeans. He used his fistful of shirt to tug Giles's face close to his.
"If we were anywhere but the Hellmouth, I'd cuff your hands now. But there are always vampires downtown. So. Keep your hands behind your back. You won't move them for any reason other than demons."
Giles nodded again. Xander tugged him closer and kissed him. Stubble on stubble. Giles opened his mouth and Xander thrust his tongue in immediately. He tasted good. Nothing artificial. A hint of beer, a hint of mint, the rest all Giles. Groaning into Xander's mouth. Xander let go, and Giles reeled on his feet.
Xander walked out of the Bronze without looking back. Two steps out onto the sidewalk, past the bouncer again, and the clumps of kids hoping to get in. He came to a sudden stop and Giles bumped into him.
"Did you drive?" Nod. "Lead me to your car."
The BMW was parked two blocks away, on a side street. Top down. Xander dug into Giles's pockets for his car keys, and gave him another grope while he was at it. Wallet, couple of condoms, change purse, leather strap, keys. Xander pulled out the leather strap and looked at it. A cock ring. He held it up to Giles, who had the grace to look down at his feet.
"Was this for you?" A shrug. Eyes still on the ground, face sulky again. "Somebody else?" A tentative headshake.
Okay. Something to investigate later. After the main event, maybe, when Giles was all limp and wrung out and vulnerable. Xander suspected that Giles was not going to yield his secrets easily. So. Time to turn the screws.
Xander unzipped Giles's jeans, right there on the street. He thought he was going to lure Giles into saying something in protest, but Giles set his jaw and stayed silent. Black satin jocks underneath the jeans, very nice, but almost not up to the task of containing Giles's excited self. And holy mother of hard-ons, Giles was excited. Giles made a sound when Xander touched him, and his shoulders moved, but his hands didn't budge. His balls were sweaty. A nice handful. Heavy. Fuzzy. Not a shaver then, thank jeebus. Xander snapped the ring on, and got another sound out of Giles, almost a whimper. He tucked Giles back into the pouch of his underwear, pointing straight up. He rezipped the jeans carefully.
Xander held the car door, a nice polite boy on a nice polite date, and Giles climbed in awkwardly. He leaned back as far as he could in the seat. Xander pulled the seatbelt around him and clicked it home. Then the fun of driving the BMW, all engine and precise steering, if sadly lacking in the transmission department.
The basement had changed since Giles's last visit, in the fall some time. The advantages of working in the home construction trade: a lot of spoiled and second-rate material left over from every gig. The basement was finished now, with hardwood floors and soundproofing in the ceiling. A real bed, with solid posts, in a curtained corner, in cherrywood. And more furniture, clean and simple, some of it made by Xander's hands.
Xander's new carpentry skills had been just what he'd needed to build a solid, smooth, pretty St Andrew's Cross. It was the centerpiece of the new basement, right there in the middle. Giles was staring at it as if hypnotized. He didn't seem to have noticed anything else, like the stuff hung on the walls. Which was fine. If that was what he was staring at, that was what he'd get.
Xander moved up behind him and whispered into his ear. "Take off your shirt."
Giles flinched, then obeyed, fumbling with the buttons. He pulled it over his head. Xander took the shirt from him and tossed it onto the chest at the foot of the bed. Giles's face changed, and he looked again as if he might speak. He controlled himself.
Then Xander finally took the cuffs off his jacket and bound Giles's hands behind him. He loved that clicking sound they made as they closed around somebody's wrists. Xander tugged at the cuffs, then pushed them another click tighter, enough that Giles would be feeling it. He wouldn't be wearing them long, but he didn't know that. Xander liked leaving bruises on wrists from the cuffs, liked making people pay for struggling, but he didn't know Giles's policy on visible marks yet.
And he wasn't going to stop to ask Giles anything. His instincts told him he couldn't lose control of this encounter for one second, or he'd lose Giles. The man was a bundle of nerves.
He pushed Giles down to his knees again and left him there for a while to stew. Xander shrugged off his jacket. Pleasure to take it off, to be honest; the thing was hot and heavy. And that was before Xander had loaded it with the necessities, like a stake and a bottle of holy water and condoms and a spare bottle of lube. He hung the jacket and came back to Giles. He was now in the classic uniform: leather pants, tight black t-shirt, studded cuff around his left bicep. He'd earned that cuff, under the loving whip of his pal in Oxnard. Earned the uniform. Not that this guy knew what it meant, or would care even if he knew.
Xander stood in front of his new playmate and contemplated him. Giles without his shirt, something Xander had never seen before. He indeed had some muscle, but not gym muscle. Practical vamp-fighting sword-swinging muscle in his arms and chest. His torso was rocked forward a bit, because of the handcuffs. Some graying fuzz on his chest, more on his stomach. Scars on his ribcage, Xander didn't know what from. His thighs were well-spread. His erection was obvious inside the jeans.
He was breathing hard, though Xander hadn't touched him, and his forehead was wet with sweat. Pure nerves. Xander could see a muscle twitching in the side of his jaw. He was staring at the floor.
Xander walked behind him. Giles twitched, then settled again. Xander pulled the flogger out from his belt.
"I don't like a lot of complicated toys. I like the simple stuff. The classics. Like the flogger."
Xander brought it down across Giles's shoulders, to underline the point. Not hard, but enough to make him flinch. He walked around in front of Giles again, trailing the leather strips across his face and chest.
"I like the leather, too. That's what got me into this, and I'll tell you the story some day. Love the leather, and I am loving these pants because they are pure sex. But they're just props. A toy is a means to an end. The end is making you feel what I want you to feel. That means you."
Another stroke on that last word, across Giles's chest. Sharper, more serious. The man's whole body shuddered. Another stroke, right across Giles's nipples. His face screwed up, but he made no noise.
"Jeez, you are wound tight."
Giles looked up at him at last.
"You need this bad, don't you."
He shook his head, and Xander let the flogger fly again. Right across his chest, hard. Giles sucked in a breath.
"Listen. Whatever the hell has you all worked up tonight, whatever is making you the grump king from hell, I'm going to sweat it out of you. You're going to end the evening spilling to me. One way or another. You can either fight me until I break you, or cooperate with me. You get me?"
Giles didn't seem to understand. He shook his head again, but it was more of a questioning gesture than a challenging one. Xander laid off, though he'd been ready to lay on with the whip. He stuck it into his belt again and tilted his head. How to say this?
"You and me, we've never had a serious conversation about feelings and shit like that. We fight the vamps together, we bleed on each other, but you've never told me your secrets. What keeps you up at night. But I don't have to know that to read you now. Your cork is about to pop. You're going to go non-linear unless you do something."
Xander came over to Giles and knelt down with him. He took Giles's face in his hands.
"Look. This is what's going to happen tonight. I'm going to tie you up, and I'm going to make you feel what you need to. I'm gonna give you a safe place and then yank it all out of you. I'm gonna overload you with pleasure and pain until you go all the way out the other side. I'm gonna make you come so hard you'll be fantasizing about it for the rest of your life."
He had him, now. He had Giles hanging on every bold word. He wanted it. There was doubt in his face, but also longing.
"I need you to hand yourself over to me. I need you to say it."
Giles shook his head, then cleared his throat. "I... uh. Why? Why would you do this?"
Xander stared. The question baffled him.
Giles tried again. "What's in it for you?"
Xander tilted his head. "Beyond the pleasure of whipping you? Beyond the satisfaction of giving my friend Giles what he needs?"
Xander grinned. "Well, that's easy. First I'm going to come in your mouth, and later I'm going to come in your ass, and tomorrow morning I'll come again wherever it was that was the most fun tonight. So, you know, there's a hell of a lot in it for me."
Giles smiled at last, just a flash, but it was genuine.
"So. Do we have a bargain, big guy? You brave enough?"
"All right. I'm yours."
Xander bent forward and kissed Giles again, just once. A taste. He'd save the real kisses for later, when Giles needed them more.