bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,

Hard Time

Author: BmblBee
Paring: Spander (of course)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bad language and explicit sexual m/m activity.
Summary: Xander is wrongly convicted of murder and sent
to Riverview Correctional Institution where Spike is a guard.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or products named in
this story and sadly, make no profit.
AS 0

Thanks to the amazing Petxnd for the banner.

Saturday evening.
Spike had enjoyed his day off. He had taken his uniforms to the dry cleaners
and picked up some groceries. He had cleaned his apartment and mowed
the grass, doing his best to block out all thoughts of a certain dark haired,
handsome inmate.

He had acknowledged to himself that everything Faith said was right and
he needed to get some space between them in order to clear his brain.
He needed a wild night out. Just like old times.

He had never before felt any attraction to a convict and tried to
understand what was different with this one. Harris was gorgeous,
but he had seen good looking before.

Harris had an innocence about him, but that meant nothing. Lots of
inmates had led perfectly normal law abiding lives till one day they just
snapped, committing a crime that landed them in Riverview.
Guilty or innocent was neither here nor there.

It was something else. It was more. It was an inexplicable, dangerous
attraction that grew in intensity day by day.
Spike was drawn to him, despite knowing he was playing with fire.
Luckily, Harris had not picked up on or returned the attraction.
For that small fact, Spike was enormously grateful.

In a need for self examination and understanding, Spike stood naked in
front of the full length mirror. He was still damp from the shower and
his clothes were laid out on the foot of his bed waiting for him.

His hair, wet and falling loose, dripped rivulets of water that ran down
his back between his shoulder blades, landing and pooling in the dip of
the small of his back before continuing down the round cheeks of his butt.

Reacting to the cold of the air conditioning that blew across his wet skin,
Spike shivered, his flesh erupting in goose bumps.
Still, he remained naked.

He studied his physique. Small, tight, firm, his stomach flat and his arms
corded. Even before he took this job, Spike had always prided
himself on keeping his body in top shape. He belonged to a gym and
seldom missed a day, even if it were only for a quick hour of cardio.
The exertion did as much for his mind as his body.

Spike ran his fingers through his hair, slicking it back against his scalp.
His breathing picked up as he allowed his mind to wander.
He was not interested in building a mental scenario. He didn't waste
time creating a world of opportunity or romantic fantasy.
He only wanted release.

Closing his eyes, Spike could see him, standing tall and straight in
front of him. "Xander" He whispered the name quietly. It echoed
off his bedroom walls as though he had shouted it at the top of his
lungs. His voice quivered as he said the forbidden name.

He had heard a few of the other white inmates call Harris that and he
had caught himself more than once almost saying it.


His fingers, now wet from his hair, trailed moist paths down the sides
of his neck, collar bone and chest till they reached his sensitive nipples.
His cock immediately reacted to the message being sent.

Spike stepped his feet apart. He continued to watch his body's
reaction in the mirror as he lightly brushed over the hardening
nubs. Slowly, his cock filled and lengthened, lifting away from the
heavy sack that swayed between his legs.


The name was said breathlessly, wantonly, experimentally.
Spike's hands slid down his sides to the tops of his thighs. The muscles
in his legs went tense as his the head of his cock, now full and thick,
touched the top rim of his nest of blond, pubic hair.

Spike scratched his fingernails sharply on the sides of his bag feeling
his nuts roll and shift. It started a tingle that vibrated from the base
of his cock, through his balls and back to his hole.


The name came out with a moan. Unable to resist any longer, Spike
wrapped his hand firmly around the shaft of his rigid cock and he
squeezed. He ran his fist up and slid it back down, watching intently
in the reflective glass as the foreskin pulled back and the head poked
out, swollen, purple and seeping.

Sweeping his thumb over the blob of precum, Spike spread it around
his cock and quickly resumed his masturbation. His body rocked
slightly as he squatted, using his left hand to massage his balls, his
hole pinched shut, winking and searching for,


The name was said with confidence. Ownership and possessiveness.
His breath had picked up and each stroke forward was accentuated with
a small grunt.

He wanted to close his eyes but he needed to watch. He wanted to see
himself in the throes of charged sexual bliss. Through the fog of pleasure,
he knew he was wrong, so he stopped thinking. He allowed himself to
just feel. His cock's thick head held no brain that could conceive the
morality of what it wanted.

He imagined dark hair and even darker eyes. He remembered watching
as the man showered, his cock long and pink. His skin was sweet
smelling and clean as he dried himself off. Spike had often caught
Xander standing just a moment longer than necessary before he dressed.


The name felt right, familiar and comfortable as though he had said
it on the cusp of a thousand orgasms. His stroke picked up speed and
purpose, urging his release closer. His hand traveled the well known
terrain of large, protruding veins, brushing the tender, sensitive nub
of nerves and lightly pinching his thumb and forefinger over the slit,
squishing the ooze between his fingertips.

His left hand released his balls and slapped against the mirror as he
leaned forward, staring into his own blue eyes, sweat beading up on
his freshly washed skin. His hot breath fogged the glass.


The name was shouted as he jerked. His hand stopped moving and the
rigid meat in his fist jumped, pulsed and began erupting thick, white
streams of fluid that splattered against the glass, running down and
dripping onto the hard wood floor with the force of a garden hose.
Time and time again it spurted till eventually he was spent, deflating
and drained.


The name was said quietly in a tone that cried out for a similar response,
but none came. There was no answering "Spike" and he remembered
sadly that there never would be.

Spike shook himself off and dropped his towel onto the wet spot on
the floor.
Confused and depressed, he knew exactly what he would do. He would
dress, go out and get brain floating drunk. Then he would find a
handsome, innocent looking dark haired man and take him on a
round the world night that neither of them would soon forget.

Sunday morning he would take two aspirin for the hangover and blame
any stupid thing he had done on the jack and coke and get ready for
work on Monday morning.
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