“Why do I have to wear this stupid hat?” Spike swung the offending item in his hand. “You’re not wearing one.”
Riley treated him to a look of mild reproof. “Well, I know what I’m doing – you don’t. And if you were a human going for his first ride, I’d insist on the hat.” He sighed. “But I guess, as you’re a vampire, I could let you go without it.”
“Though I don’t know why you care,” Riley went on. “I’m the only one’s gonna be looking at you.”
“’S not the point. The universe would know I’d ruined an otherwise immaculate record for sartorial elegance.”
“Black jeans, and a black tee-shirt,” Riley said blandly.
“Yeah.” Spike narrowed his eyes, daring Riley to make anything of it.
But Riley just smiled that easy smile of his, and Spike – pretending not to notice – slung the hat back in the general direction of the tack room, and started towards Suzie, the small chestnut horse waiting in the yard near Riley’s big grey.
“Nah-uh.” Riley stopped him, with a hand on his arm.
“What?” Spike raised an eyebrow. “Have I got to don forty pounds of protective padding now? Or maybe you’ve got a suit of armour for me.”
Riley laughed. “No, you’re fine. But that’s the wrong horse.”
“What d’you mean, the wrong horse?” Spike glanced around the yard. “Where’s mine then?”
“That one’s yours.” Riley indicated the grey snow-capped mountain he called ‘The Lieutenant.’
“What?” Spike took a step backwards, giving Riley a questioning look. Then he laughed, and pistolled a finger at him. “You’re taking the piss.”
“No I’m not.” Without further ado, Riley went over to Suzie, and swung himself onto her back.
Spike put his hands in his pockets, and looked up at Riley, sitting comfortably on his perfectly-normal-sized horse. “It may have escaped your attention, Riley, my love, but this one –” he indicated Suzie – “is much smaller than –”
In the face of Riley’s unflappable amusement, Spike didn’t even bother to finish the sentence. He eyed the Lieutenant suspiciously. The horse looked like it was laughing at him too.
“I’m happy to tell you that size isn’t everything.” Riley smirked. “I’d have thought you’d be glad of that.”
Riley spread his hands. “You’re smaller – I mean shorter, in height – than me. But out of the two of us, I know who I’d be more scared of bumping into, in a dark alley. You know what they say. ‘Crazy beats big, any day’.”
“You got a point I suppose.” Spike gave a reluctant half-smile. “Hey, did you just call me –”
“Crazy?” Riley grinned. “Maybe I did. Suzie’s temperamental. She can be hard to handle.” He lowered his voice. “Definitely seeing a resemblance to someone ...”
But it must have been a conspiracy, because – as if to back up Riley’s argument – Suzie chose that exact moment to take a few impatient prancing paces sideways.
Riley, unflustered, reined her in, and made soothing noises as he petted her neck.
“You can see how feisty she is, Spike. She’s way too skittish for a novice. She was even thinking about throwing me off last week. But The Lieutenant’s steady as a rock.” He turned to the horse. “You’ll look after him, won’t you boy?”
The Lieutenant tossed his huge head, and Spike swayed back, much farther than was actually necessary to avoid being hit.
“Look,” Spike half-heartedly protested. “He tried to nut me.”
“He’s just saying ‘hello’.”
Spike sighed. “Alright then. Despite my better judgement, you’ve convinced me. So exactly how do I get up on this enormous contraption?”
Riley laughed, and shook his head. “The Lieutenant’s not a contraption, he’s a horse. You have to befriend him if you want him to carry you around. He won’t throw you off, but if he takes against you, you’re goin’ nowhere.”
Riley rummaged in his pocket, and passed some pony treats down to Spike. “Here – give him these. Keep your hand flat.”
Spike held the treats out for the horse, his hand so flat as to be almost convex, and The Lieutenant managed to gently snaffle them up before they rolled off his palm.
Gingerly, Spike petted the horse’s nose. It was velvet-soft. “Huh.” Spike cocked his head.
“See?” Riley smiled. “He’s not so scary.”
Spike frowned. “Well what do I call him? No offence, but ‘The Lieutenant’ is a stupid name. ‘Come on “The Lieutenant”!’ It sounds like I’ve bet my week’s wages on him.”
“You can call him ‘Lefty’, for short.”
“‘Lefty.’ Fine.” Spike turned to the horse and bowed. “Hello Lefty. Nice to make your acquaintance.”
The horse pulled his lips back a little, and blew warm air in Spike’s face.
Spike snorted, and took hold of the reins, then stood, shifting from foot to foot, staring at the living, breathing cliff-face in front of him. “I still don’t know how I’m gonna get up there.” He sounded a little pathetic, even to himself. “I thought this was supposed to be a lesson, not an assault course.”
Taking pity on him, Riley dismounted and came over to give his assistance. “Okay, go round to the near side.”
“I’m standing in front of him,” Spike dead-panned. “Both sides are equidistant.”
“Equi-distant. Funny.” Riley shook his head. “The ‘near’ side is the horse’s left side.”
“And why does it matter which side I climb? Are the crosswinds too strong on the North face?”
Riley laughed. “It doesn’t really matter, but I guess horses are used to being mounted from the left.” He frowned. “Their left, that is. It’s probably because most people are right-handed.”
“So I’m at a disadvantage before I start,” Spike grumbled. Now he came to think about it, he didn’t remember ever seeing anyone mount a horse from the other side, either in real life, or on TV.
“And another thing,” Riley said. “If you have to go round a horse, don’t walk round the back. Not unless you don’t mind getting kicked.”
“Not inspiring me with confidence here, mate.”
“Well, you don’t like people sneaking around behind your back, do you?”
Spike shrugged. “Fair enough.”
“I’ll hold onto the saddle. You put your left foot in the stirrup, and really throw yourself over, okay?”
Following Riley’s directions, Spike managed to haul himself into the saddle. “Like climbing bloody Everest,” he muttered, as he got himself seated.
“There. How’s that?”
Truth be told, Spike was relieved – and a bit surprised – to find that he was even facing in the right direction, but now that he was safely ensconced atop The Lieutenant, it gave him a completely new perspective on life. “I think I like it up here. I can look down on you for a change.”
Riley put a hand on his thigh, and grinned. “Not like I don’t let you do that now and then.”
“So. Where’s the ignition?” Spike asked innocently.
Riley shook his head.
“What? I’m on top of a bloody tank, it should have an ignition.”
“Just kick real hard, and he’ll go,” Riley said, mounting up.
“You want me to kick your horse?” Spike boggled at him. “You told me to befriend him. I don’t usually kick my friends.”
“Believe me, he’ll hardly feel it. He’ll probably follow me and Suzie, anyway.”
Spike kicked; nothing happened.
“Harder,” Riley said.
Spike kicked again, and this time The Lieutenant began to amble forward. Spike tried to copy whatever it was Riley was doing with the reins. “I hope he’s not gonna decide to gallop off into the sunset with me.”
“He won’t, I promise.” Riley gave him a reassuring smile. “Not without me, anyway.”
“I hope not,” Spike said softly.
Then they – or rather their horses – set off at an easy pace along a narrow trail between the fields. The sun was high in the sky. All kinds of birds and insects were calling, but Spike couldn’t have put a name to a single one of them. He was sure Riley could have told him what they were, but he wasn’t going to draw attention to his ignorance by asking; it was bad enough that he’d lived this long without ever having learned to ride a horse.
It was actually quite pleasant once he’d got used to the weird feeling of height and movement, though Spike was sure that by tomorrow he’d feel like he’d been straddling the Thames.
He held the Gem of Amara up to see the sunlight refracted through it. It still amazed him that he was free to go out in daylight – seemed too good to be true. He was almost certain he didn’t deserve it. It was like the world had forgiven him for all the horrible things he’d ever done.
“Pretty miraculous, huh?” Riley’d guessed his thoughts.
Spike nodded solemnly. “So where are you taking me?”
“Not too far. We don’t want to do too much your first time, or you won’t be able to walk tomorrow morning.”
“We can go as far as you like. Don’t let me cramp your style.” Spike sincerely hoped Riley wouldn’t take him at his word.
“You say that now,” Riley replied. “I’ve got somewhere in mind – about an hour down the trail.”
That didn’t sound too taxing. They rode on, between the young corn stalks. Riley made chucking sounds to Suzie, and occasionally looked back over his shoulder to check on him. After a while, the trail widened and they could walk side by side.
Riley glanced across. “How are you doing?”
Riley grinned. “I was talking to Lefty. He’s never given a vampire a ride before.”
“Do you think he can tell?” Spike squinted at the horse’s ears.
“I’m sure he knows you’re not a normal human. Horses have a good sense of smell, and you don’t have much in the way of body odour for him to detect. Come to think of it, that could be why Jess took a while to get used to you.”
Even though Spike had tried really hard to make friends with Riley’s dog, Jess never seemed anywhere near as pleased to see him as she was Riley, or the other members of his clan. Spike was man enough to admit – to himself at any rate – that he’d been a little hurt by her indifference. But perhaps there was a reason: he just wasn’t as visible to her doggy senses as a human would be.
The path narrowed again. “Why don’t you take the lead now?” Riley suggested.
“You sure? He’s not gonna bolt, or take me off in the wrong direction?”
“The path doesn’t fork. He’ll be fine. Just keep going as you are.”
Riley reined his horse back to allow The Lieutenant to slip into the lead, and Spike urged the huge beast between his legs forward, smirking at the phrasing in his head as he did so.
They were riding through trees now, and the birdsong had stilled. It was quiet, but for the soft sounds of their horses’ hooves on the trail, the creak of the harness, and the occasional snap of a twig, as they brushed against it. Spike breathed in the scents of leaf mould, and leather, and warm horse. He felt like asking, ‘are we there yet?’ but out of respect for the woodland gods, he refrained from breaking the silence.
After a while, the path took a sharp turn to the right, and suddenly they were out in the open, on the grassy bank of the meander of a river. The water was perfectly still; dragonflies hovered in the air above it. The trunks of the trees on the opposite bank – tall as the pillars of a cathedral – shimmered in the heat haze.
“Fuck, Riley, it’s beautiful.”
“You like this place?” Riley blushed, as though he had planted the trees himself, and dotted the grass with flowers. “This has always been one of my favourite places. Used to come here and skinny-dip as a kid.”
“Used to? What – you don’t fancy it today?”
“Honestly?” Riley winced. “It’s pretty cold. Didn’t used to notice, when I was younger but …” He shrugged. “Maybe later in the year. Give the water time to warm up.”
Spike nodded. “So what now?”
“You wanna … stay here for a while?”
“Sure – if I can get down off of Lefty here.” Spike scratched the back of his neck. “Only trouble is, I think I left my parachute at home.”
Riley must have known he was kidding, but he got down anyway, and came over to supervise the dismount.
Spike swung his leg over the horse’s back, and slid slowly down into the waiting circle of Riley’s arms. He turned and looked up at him. “That’s more like it. Didn’t really feel natural, my head bein’ higher than yours.”
“You don’t mind that I’m so much taller than you?”
“No,” Spike said. “I like it …”
He didn’t want to think about why, and Riley didn’t ask: just laughed and kissed him. Locked together, they stumbled towards a convenient tree trunk. Riley pushed Spike’s back against it, and for a few minutes they went on kissing, hard and hungry, like teenagers.
Spike was first to break away.
Looking a little flushed, Riley grunted in surprise as Spike held him off. “Somethin’ wrong?”
“Hmmm. Nice as this is, don’t we have to do something about our trusty steeds?” Spike waved a hand in the general direction of the horses, who stood watching them, inscrutable.
“I dunno – tie ’em to a tree, or … give ’em a blindfold or something?”
“You think we’re gonna do something to scare them?” Riley grinned. “Nah. Don’t worry. Lefty won’t wander far from me, and Suzie will stay where he stays. Herding instinct. Still, that reminds me …”
Riley rummaged in Suzie’s saddlebags, retrieved a bottle and a plastic box, and set them down. Then he took a bedding roll from behind the Lieutenant’s saddle, and unrolled some blankets and a groundsheet on the grass.
Spike shook his head. “And the Boy Scout strikes again.”
Riley stripped off his shirt, and threw himself down onto the makeshift bed. “Care to join me?”
But suddenly, Spike was feeling anything but sure. He hadn’t spent much time in the great outdoors, and – except in dreams – he hadn’t been undressed in daylight since … well, ever actually. Young William Pratt – or ‘Bennett’, as he’d told Riley his name was when they’d first met – would never have dreamed of taking his shirt off outdoors, and in public, however secluded the location. On the few trips he and Mama had taken to the seaside, he’d changed in a bathing tent; the bathing costume had covered up almost as much of his body as his usual attire.
It was foolishness. There was no one to see him but Riley. Even if there were, he had nothing to be ashamed of. Spike dragged his tee-shirt over his head and dropped it on the ground. Then he crossed his arms over his chest.
“What’s wrong?” Riley asked him.
“Nothing. Bit chilly, is all.” The sun was warm on his bare shoulders. “Who else knows about this place?”
“Only me and my family. Oh, and some of the guys, but I sent the team over to the other side of the farm,” Riley assured him. “We’re not gonna get any interruptions, if that’s what’s bothering you.”
So: Riley didn’t want any interruptions either. Spike shrugged. “Not bothered.” He lay down on the blanket, trying to look relaxed.
“And now, let’s get you some protection.”
“Not gonna get pregnant, mate.” Spike looked at him sidelong.
Riley shook his head, and produced a tube of suntan lotion.
“Oh, this again,” Spike said. “Don’t think I’m gonna get skin cancer, either.”
“Maybe not – but can I help it, if I feel the need to spread some of this all over that flawless flesh of yours, just in case?” Riley gave him a gentle shove. “Go on – turn over.”
Spike raised an eyebrow.
“Come on! What are you waiting for?”
With a barely audible, “Sir! Yes Sir!” Spike rolled onto his stomach.
Riley’s weight eased down onto Spike’s thighs, then a cold squiggle of lotion found its way down his spine, and Riley worked it into his back and shoulders, giving him a vigorous massage in the process. But – for a change – one thing failed to lead to another; when Riley was done, he just slapped Spike’s side, and dismounted.
“There, that should do it.” Riley lay down beside him.
Feeling a little cheated, Spike grunted, rolled over, and lay on his back. “What about you? You’re the one in actual danger here, remember.”
“Better do something about it then.” Riley shifted onto his front.
Spike huffed, and straddled him, and began working the sunscreen into Riley’s broad back and shoulders. It seemed almost sacrilege to be coating that golden expanse of tanned flesh with the metallic chemical sheen, masking the natural scent of Riley’s sun-warmed skin with the artificial cocktail.
Still, it was an opportunity to work up a bit of friction. Hoping Riley would take the hint, Spike made sure his erection nudged against Riley’s ass, as he worked his hands down to the man’s waist. He slid his hands beneath the waistband of Riley’s jeans, spreading sunscreen well past the margin.
Riley gave him a dry look. “I don’t think I can get sunburned through denim.”
“Who says you’re gonna be keeping those on?” Spike ran a languid finger down Riley’s back, and slid it between his buttocks. When he felt the muscles clenching he smiled, slapped Riley’s ass, and got off. “Other side now.”
Spike trailed a line of sunscreen down the centre of Riley’s torso, and began smoothing it over the firm, smooth curves of his chest. Aware of Riley watching him, he didn’t let their eyes meet. He allowed his thumbs a brief teasing pass across Riley’s nipples, and heard a slight intake of breath.
Then he made the mistake of meeting Riley’s gaze; it was curious, and slightly detached. Spike felt suddenly foolish, for no good reason except that he’d had so many fantasies about having sex with Riley, in a setting just like this one, that Riley’s scrutiny made him feel like an actor in his own bad porn movie. Perhaps Riley wasn’t in the mood; if so, he was making a complete tit of himself.
“Don’t know why I’m doin’ the bits that you can reach anyway,” Spike said abruptly.
“Because you want to make sure it’s done properly?”
“Yeah, that’s what it is.” Spike put the cap back on the tube. “What’s next? Do my finely-tuned senses detect some kind of alcoholic beverage?”
“You can smell it?”
“No. I can see it.” Spike pointed at the bottle. “But what’s in the box?”
“Nothing you’ll want,” Riley said confidently, opening the Tupperware box.
It was full of strawberries: red jewels, ripe, and bruised, and encrusted with sugar. Spike reached for one.
Riley looked bemused. “You gonna eat that?”
“No, I’m gonna wear it as a hat. Why wouldn’t I eat it?” Spike shrugged. “You’ve seen me eat stuff before.”
“Yeah. Meat, chocolate –” Riley checked the items off on his fingers: “– deep-fried onions, cakes, and cookies. I’ve never seen you eat anything healthy before.”
Man had a point.
“I can eat healthy stuff!” Spike popped a strawberry in his mouth, and did that lewd thing with his tongue that Riley seemed to like, giving him a glimpse of the fruit before swallowing it down with a triumphant bob of his Adam’s apple. “’Sides – strawberries and cream’s a fine British tradition.”
“Well, I didn’t bring any cream, but how about washing it down with a fine, bargain-priced Merlot?” Riley stripped the metal cap off the bottle, with a flourish greater than the item warranted. “Is that a fine British trad-”
“Give that here.”
Spike left Riley staring at his empty hands. Glad of something to loosen him up, he lay back on his elbows, swigging from his prize, and downed a quarter of it before Riley had the chance to stop him. When, at last, he offered it back, Riley snatched it before he could change his mind, and Riley, too, took a long drink. He kept his eyes fixed on Spike the whole time.
It looked like a challenge.
Well, Riley was in a strange mood. Did he want to have sex or not?
With slow deliberation, Spike dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing it with red wine. Then he reached for another strawberry. He placed this one into his mouth with delicate precision, and manipulated it between his lips.
Riley leaned forward, and tried to snatch a sliver of the tender flesh between his teeth, but Spike held him off, and swallowed it before their lips met.
“Not fair,” Riley softly reproached him.
“All’s fair in love and war.” Spike took another strawberry from the box, and pressed it between Riley’s lips. “All square now?”
Riley leaned forward to mash his lips with Spike’s, and they shared the acid-sweet fruit pulp in the kiss.
When both their mouths were smeared with juice, sugar crystals clinging to their lips, Spike drew back, enticing Riley in with a flick of his tongue, and Riley leaned forwards again, and kitten-licked the sugar from Spike’s lips.
Melting a little, and hardening as well, Spike opened his mouth for another kiss; whimpered when Riley made him wait.
The man didn’t take his eyes off him, but reached for a strawberry. He held it between his teeth, pressed Spike flat against the blanket, and plastered the roof of his mouth with the fruit, not letting up until Spike was breathless and panting.
Riley pulled back.
Spike tried to follow, but Riley held him down with a hand on his chest, and Spike – his mouth smeared red like a sacrificial victim – surrendered with a soft sigh, and briefly closed his eyes.
Riley’s heart swelled with … something: pride, or lust. He could do anything to Spike – anything he wanted – and Spike would let him. His own breathing was loud in his ears; his heartbeat louder still. He ghosted another strawberry across Spike’s lips, but when they parted to accept it, he took it away, ignoring Spike’s small sound of protest.
He bit the strawberry in half, and smeared a glistening pink trail up Spike’s stomach, and then across to his left nipple; painted it with red juice and squashed the fruit against it, spreading the carmine pulp around the areola. Then he dipped his head, flicked the stiff peak with his tongue, took it between his teeth and – none too gently –tugged it.
Riley knew what Spike wanted: his other nipple needed to be touched, and Spike was clenching the muscles in his chest, as if to make Riley touch it by force of will.
But Spike couldn’t make him do a damn thing.
Riley just sat back on his haunches, watching Spike squirm and flex beneath him, and looking down at the work he’d done: the pale areola stained red; the nipple, hard and raw and slippery from the mauling he’d given it. He leaned down and blew on it, licked it, then pinched it hard, and ground his thigh between Spike’s legs.
Spike hissed and arched off the ground.
Relenting, Riley brushed his lips across the other nipple, and Spike moaned loudly, pressing it up against his teeth. Riley let it slip between his lips, and nipped it, gently at first. Then he gave it the same treatment as the first, coating it with red pulp; biting then kissing the vulnerable nub of flesh, then biting it again, then going back to the first one, and back again, as Spike kept up a steady stream of soft, and very satisfying, very pathetic sounds of submission, until both nipples were hard, glistening, and tainted with juice and membranous crimson fragments.
His mouth watering at the abstract painting he’d made of Spike’s torso, Riley trailed a contemplative finger down Spike’s ribs, and imagined how Spike would look with each nipple capped with half a strawberry – red fruit against Spike’s creamy skin. His heart sped up.
From the way Spike was gasping, and biting his lip, and the way Spike’s fingers were digging into his ribs, Spike was reading his mind, and Spike wanted it: he wanted to be treated like a …
Riley murmured breathlessly, “God, Spike – you should see yourself.”
“What … how do I look?” Spike was hoarse with the effort to control himself enough to speak.
But Riley – his mind invaded by all the words for ‘whore’ – just shook his head. Beneath the palm of his hand, he rolled one of the soft fruits over Spike’s left nipple; Spike made a sound he’d never heard him make before – high and breathless. He pinched the other nipple, then crushed it with the pad of his thumb as he ground his thigh into Spike’s crotch once more.
“Fuck, Riley,” Spike choked out. “Gonna make me come in my jeans.”
“You’ve done it to me, more than once.” It was true. For some reason, that bothered Riley now – more than it ever had before. What was he? A plaything?
Determined, now, to make Spike lose it – give it up whether he wanted to or not – he thrust a crude hand between Spike’s thighs, sawing the hard edge of his hand against Spike’s balls, scratching, and fumbling at the seam of Spike’s jeans.
Spike let out a harsh gasp.
“What’s wrong?” Riley squeezed Spike’s erection like he owned it. “You did say the tradition was strawberries and cream.”
“Please, what?” Riley demanded, his patience thinning.
“Please … don’t …” Spike eyes were wide; the red staining on his face made him seem young and uncertain. “I … um … I have to ride home in these jeans, Riley.”
Riley shook his head. What …? Nothing like this had happened for a while. “Okay.” He snatched his hand away. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking”
But something – some puzzle piece – was missing. Riley knew that what he’d been about to do wasn’t nice … wasn’t kind, and not just for the reason Spike had given. But he didn’t feel it. He should feel bad about it – he wanted to – but what he really felt was … annoyed, that Spike had stopped him.
Trying to steady himself, he placed a kiss on Spike’s stomach, feeling the nervous flutter beneath the skin against his lips. “Sorry,” he said again, trying to mean it; trying to inject concern into his voice. He set to work removing Spike’s boots and jeans.
Spike looked away, then reached for the bottle, and took a long draught as he collected himself.
Riley palmed his cheek. “You okay?”
But Spike didn’t look okay: he looked worried, and that, too, was now a source of irritation.
“How about you?” Spike asked, his head on one side.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Riley frowned. “I mean, yeah. Just got a little … lost in the moment. Sorry.”
It wasn’t a lie. He was sorry: sorry that he didn’t feel bad, when he knew he should.
“S’okay.” Spike bit his lip, and glanced down at himself. He took a deep breath. “You gonna sort me out, or what?”
Riley followed his glance to where Spike’s cock stood: a scarlet paintbrush against the pale canvas of his belly.
“Sure. I’m gonna sort you out, alright.” He took another fruit in his mouth, crushed it, and went down on Spike, slathering his cock with pulp.
Spike gasped; thrust twice, and came hard, and when Riley raised his head and saw him – pale satin, beaded and stained with red wine and strawberry – he knew he’d ever seen anything so sinful, and so beautiful.
But that was all it was. With a remote feeling of shock, he realised that he didn’t feel anything for Spike, and – for once – he wasn’t feeling anything from him, either. Maybe the ring had stopped transmitting.
So what if it had? All he wanted was to get inside that temple of sin, and get himself off, and he was going to do whatever it took to achieve it. Everything would be clearer after that.
“I want you,” he said hotly. That, at least, was true.
Spike eyes were glazed. “Yeah.” It was half question, half answer.
Riley crushed another fruit between his palms, and smeared Spike’s balls with it. He buried his head between Spike’s thighs, and lapped and worried at the soft, tight skin.
Spike moaned, and spread himself.
Riley positioned another strawberry against Spike’s hole, and pressed it with his thumb, and now Spike was whining – a soft, desperate sound of need. He was hard again, begging, “Fuck, yeah, oh god, please …”
Then Riley remembered what he’d forgotten to bring. He could take Spike dry, but …
“I want you … but I forgot –”
Spike’s head snapped up. “You forgot the lube.”
Riley quailed under Spike’s astonished gaze. “Spike, I’m sorr-”
“Fine Boy Scout you are,” Spike said breathlessly. “My jeans … front pocket.”
“Thank God!” Riley scrabbled for it.
Spike lay back on his elbows again, watching him; taking another draught from the bottle. He seemed to be back in control, and that bugged Riley. There was a slight smile on Spike’s face as Riley fumbled with the packet.
Was Spike laughing at him?
“Go on then – get to it.”
Riley thrust first one then another finger into that sacred hole, and now he was the one gasping and moaning, as he and felt Spike relax around him, letting him in. With the other hand, Riley wrestled to open his jeans, and push them down far enough, and slick himself with lube.
Spike hooked a leg over his arm, like the needy little slut he was; but slut or not, his entrance – red, and smeared with fruit pulp – looked like the gateway to heaven. Riley couldn’t wait any longer to be inside; couldn’t wait to feel Spike shudder and clench around him, and cry out his name.
“Come on mate, have at it,” Spike said. “Horses are alright, but this is the ride of your life.”
They rode home.
“Whose brilliant idea was it to shag the novice rider raw, halfway through the first lesson?” Spike ground himself on the saddle, and made a face that was half pain, half ecstasy.
“Guilty as charged,” Riley said ruefully.
“Seriously though.” Spike glanced at him. “You lost it a bit there mate – you do know that, don’t you?”
“I know. I dunno what happened there. It was like … I’m not gonna make any excuses. Remember that time when we’d just come here? The night we moved into the cabin?”
“I remember,” Spike said. “That was my fault – at least partly. And you were coming down off your Mad Professor’s drugs at the time. But they’re well out of your system, and I don’t think I did anything this time, that might have set you off.”
“I don’t think so either.” Riley looked worried. “This was … I don’t know. It was probably nothing. Can we not talk about it?”
Spike frowned. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
There was a commotion up ahead. A figure wearing camouflage gear stumbled out of the undergrowth onto the path, and fell in an exhausted heap.
Riley dismounted, ran over to the man, and turned him over. “Graham?”