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Puffs of smoke filled a metal-cased room, sheathing the roof in a layer of grey film. The soft sizzling of a burning cigarette filled the space. It was quiet, almost empty save for two things. One was Spike, lounged lazily across a dirty leather couch. Cigarette in hand, Spike occupied his time the only way he knew how.
The other was Jet.
Thick, solid and worn with age. His good, nonmetal arm was resting on the table, his metal one proving good use.
He was drinking beer.
It was some routine, a ritual he couldn't get over. Wake up, work, have a beer, sleep. Sometimes, the radio would be on, or ,if they were on a half-decent moon, the tv instead. But, those two broke ages ago. And here they are, sitting in silence.
Squinting, Spike entertained himself with Jet. Or, annoyed himself that is.
Spike never fancied cheap booze. Not beer, that's for sure. When Spike gets drunk, he wants to drunk. Black-out and wasted, shit-faced even. Cheap booze is for long nights, something he can't afford.
His eyes would wander elsewhere too. Of course, they would. Jet’s always been attractive to Spike. His thick black hair, sharp jaw, and strong build towered over his. Spike could oogle Jet forever. He does oogle Jet forever.
“If you thought any louder I’d think you were someone else.” Jet smirked. He turned to face Spike, his jumpsuit tightening nicely.
Flushing at the exposure, Spike turned his attention elsewhere. His nose scrunched in some vaguely feigned annoyance, "You're drinkin' beer Jet."
“So? I like it.” Jet took a swig of his bottle, causing Spike to squirm. 'That damn jumpsuit's too tight.' Arms crossed, Spike huffed, "Yeah well, I don’t.” Spike huffed.
Frowning, Jet paused his nightly beer consumption. He tilted the bottle at Spike, using it as a stand-in-hand for his skeptical gestures. "Wha'd you mean don't like beer? Spike, you drink it all the time." Spike groaned, dramatics and all. He threw his hands up in a huff, cigarette wedged between his lips. Rising all dramatic, yet somehow lazy, Spike at at the table. He even smudged out his cigarette, too.
Now, nicotineless and excuseless, Spike was forced to confront his demons. He's lying, he's only being dramatic for that comedic effect.
“Just because I drink it doesn’t mean I like it, Jet. Usin what you got and goin for what you like is different.”
“Then .. what do you like, Spike?”
Silence filled the room. It wasn't exactly had to do, seeing as everything was broken. Bile churned in Spike's stomach, and he thought of lying. Being vulnerable wasn't exactly on his job description, but damn did he do it anyways. "I .. like the hard stuff. I get all mushy when I'm drunk, an' I don't have the energy to remember everything I fuck."
Somewhere, the back of Jet's mind, an Aha! bell started to ring. He knew that, in a weird, subconscious way. Months ago, when things were going very bad very quick, they had made a decision to blow money at a bar. A stupid, yet telling thing. Where Jet only got humoured and less pained, Spike rambled about more than he'd remember. It hurt Jet, that day. To learn so much and never get to do anything with it. Jet couldn't get over that last part, though. 'I don't have the energy to remember everything I fuck.' That was some purposeful wording.
Jet wasn't a rocket scientist, but he was a firm believer in the scientific method.
Fuck around and find out.
“Mn, I have some old brandy stashed away somewhere. I don’t use it much, 'xcept for a night or two.” Jet pondered aloud. His thoughts brought excitement to Spike’s beating ears. Old brandy, that means good brandy. Oh, Spike was going to get fucked up.
"You'd let me use your liquor stash? I thought it was for special occasions,"
"It's not like we ever have any. The longer it keeps the more it'll take me out"
Jet waved his worries away. He seemed calm, he always was. Interestingly, Jet had begun to lean over, too. His beer was still firmly in hand, metal arm and all.
Spike watched as he leaned to the side, his chest impossibly defined by that too-tight-flightsuit. Creaking his neck, Jet pressed a palm flag against the wall. The panel seemed inconspicuous, like any other panel would. Instead, the panel bounced outward, exposing a refrigerated liquor shelf. It heled Jet's aforementioned hard liquor stash, and a few all-expenses paid wine bottles. How romantic.
"Wh-?! The fuck?! I've ran my hip into that so many times!" Yelling, Spike couldn't believe his eyes. He sputtered as Jet picked a bottle out, and gawked as the cubbie slid shut. "That's because I designed it that way. It opens one way, and a specific way too. It's idiot proof for idiots like you," Of course, Jet's a genius. Always two steps behind and Spike's three steps back. Between Spike and Faye's social alcoholism, making a secret liquor cubbie sounds worth the trouble it brings.
The crinkling of plastic drew Spike's attention. Jet was opening the bottle. He was a gentleman, the way he unwrapped and unscrewed the cap. It made Spike's heart sing .. or that was the promise of alcohol. Probably both.
“Here, drink as much as you want. Safely, of course.” Smiling, Jet handed Spike the bottle. He had set the cap on the table, not bothering to do much else. Instead, he returned to his own bottle, blind of Spike's silent misery. For at least ten sips, Spike sat in abject agony. How was he going to say this? Oh hey, o' buddy o' pal o' bestfriend, I get suuuper horny when I'm drunk, can I fuck you before I beg? No, god no. Spike could never.
Although, Spike's reserves were found too little too late. Jet had already seen his deep-thought look, and the way his brow furrowed tightly. It got him asking, quickly.
“You ok Spike? You know you don’t gotta drink with me, right?" “Yeah, Yeah I'm ok. Just .. thinking, s' all.” Spike shook his head. He lowered the flat-shaped bottle to the table, tilting his head as Jet did the same. God, this was going to be embarrassing.
“Tell me then. Talk to me.” Encouraging, Jet opened his body to Spike's. He watched as Spike ignited red across the face, cheeked puffed out adorably. His face lowered to conserve some shame, although all it did was hide his eyes. It's not like his dark green lashes did that already. They so did.
“I wanna have sex if I drink this.”
“Like, for real sex?”
“Yeah, like for real sex.”
Silence blanketed the room. It was thicker, tenser even. You could walk in the kitchen and stab it with a knife.
Spike was stiff, red and ridgid all over. He was impatient, a foot tapping mess of melted confessionals. He waited impatiently for Jet to say, do anything. He didn't mean it, but his words were some sorta open invitation. God, he hoped Jet would say yes.
Waiting was gonna drove Spike insane.
“Top or bottom?”
Jet broke the silence. The question fell like a bombshell across the table. Roaring aftershocks almost deafened Spike, causing him to blink once, thrice. No, he wasn't dreaming, or going insane. Jet was propositioning him for sex. Very vulnerable, messy, brandy-smelling sex.
“Bottom. I,, like bottoming.” Spike mumbled under his breath. He couldn't bring himself to speak any louder. His dark green lashes and hair hid his incredibly shy stare. His lips pursed in some awkward wait, trembling at Jet hummed. Looking almost helpless, he watched as Jet took a sip of his ugly beer glass. "Drink up then, I'm barely tipsy over here."
If most of Spike's teeth weren't crowns, then he'd wish they were. The speed that he shoved the bottle in his mouth was pure insanity. Dizzying, lust filled insanity. Spike drank until the bottle was halfway gone, and he was sure their night was sealed. It didn't take long for the alcohol to hit. Spike's a small guy, especially for his height and weight. The blood in his bloodstream stood not a damn chance, and within thirty minutes, Spike was everywhere.
He was, without a doubt, absolutely shit-faced.
His body swayed and bobbled where he sat, shoulders lax with a alcoholic buzz. His head rolled where his torso went, too. Dusted pink and giggly all over, Spike grinned up at the larger.
“You there Spike?” Jet leaned to check on Spike. His own face was ruddy with blush, but, he wasn't anywhere this bad. He wasn't stumbling drunk, not yet, but his words were slurred and mind confident.
Jet watched as Spike smiled up at him. His lips parted in a childish, adoring wonder. Faintly, Jet could see the sparkles of his pearly white teeth. Spike was beautiful, breathless and taking.
God, Jet fucking needed him.
He needed Spike now.
“C’me on Spike, let’s go back to mine.” Jet brushed Spike’s face. In his drunken stoupor, Spike leaned into the sensations. His arms looped tirelessly around Jet's neck, making their jobs that much easier. Picking him bridal style, Jet rushed to the master bedroom.
Speeding down their short, but winding hallways, Jet practically fell through his shut bedroom door. Opening it was easy, throwing Spike atop the bed was easier. Locking his room? Not so much. It was dark, and he's older than he was yesterday. All Jet knows is that by the time he was done, Spike had sprawled out against his mattress.
He looked .. breathtaking, honestly.
His shirt was, somehow, discarded amongst the drunken rubble. Long-legged pants were still comfortable around his waste, but were unbuttoned for easy access.
Suddenly hot and completely overdressed, Jet saw to it that he was stripped, bare and nude. Clothes and heavy boots flew to the ground, decorating the carpet with a Jet shaped-puddle. Springing to life in Spike's face, he could see it now. Jet, semi-hard and already leaking through his pants. "God .. fuck Jet, you're so perfect" Mouth watering, Spike enjoyed every sight he could see.
"I could say the same about you beautiful,"
Smiling, Jet took his time crawling over Spike. Thick, wanting lips grazed over his semi-clothed skin. It lit a fire beneath the smaller, letting him chase Jet by the scratch of some nails.
Kissing his way up Spike's jaw, Jet saw it nice to question Spike, just this once. He wanted this to be ok, to provide safe words if it all goes wrong.
Instead, Spike pulled him hard, and pressed their mouths against one another.
Their teeth clacked hard at the desperation. It wasn't their first kiss, but it sure as hell felt like it. Passionate, laced with urgency. It bloomed into more than a heated makeout session, lips trailing down Spike's throat column. Jet had latched, firm and gruff, over the skin there, sucking the skin dry. Fingers grasped at Jet's forearms. Spike tightened his grip when Jet bit down, the pressure pulling high whines from the smaller. “Mm, f-uu-aa.” Whimpered, Spike clamped his thighs around Jet’s legs. His chest began to heave as Jet raised his target area, the skin more sensitive around his jaw.
Wordlessly, Jet fumbled with Spike's pant rim. It was open, didn't need any undoing for fixing. It was just something to mess with, a preoccupied tease as he dipped lower. His hands cupped at the sides of Spike's thighs as he nipped at the smaller's skin. Blotches, pretty and bruised, littered Spike's stomach and chest. It wrecked the smaller, eliciting pleas from his lips.
Grinning, Jet looked up as he pulled Spike's pants down. He wanted to watch the smaller's surprise as he stripped him bare. Amd surprised he was.
Spike gasped as Jet took him into his hand. Pressing eager kisses to his leaking cock, Jet worshiped the aching tip. He licked and thumbed at the glistening slit, occasionally working down the curving shaft. The pleasure on his cock was a distraction from the uncapping of Gaynmade-branded lube. It masked the way Jet had warmed the liquid, and eased the intrusion of the first digit.
What it didn't do was free him from Jet's slow, almost agonizing pace.
Sure, Spike felt fragile. He felt fragile as Jet curled and pushed his way inside, making him sing sweet wavering moans. He felt fragile the more was added, the bigger he stretched and the more bruises that began to match. He felt fragile. He felt fragile and vulnerable and insanely small.
But he wasn't fragile. Being and feeling are two different things. It was driving him insane, every curl, lick and mind-spinning kiss. His back arches and pitch rose with every new sensation. He wanted, no, needed more.
He needed the way Jet found his prostate, the method completely on accident.
The experienced, loving attention made him cry out in ecstacy. His legs shook and voice wobbled and he scrambled for purchase. "Fuck, Fuck, Jet 'm so close. Jet please, fuck-"
His release never came, though. The sweet promise of pleasure and otherworldly sleep was denied once, twice, nearly four times. Everytime he got close enough to whine Jet slowed, pulling fingers and lips away to rub his tears away instead. The tears were ones of frustration, something mixed with anger and desperation. But, everytime they fell, Jet was there. Kissing him, holding his face and hands, whispering just a little more, you can do a little more hon.
After what felt like a lifetime, Jet deemed Spike ready. The tip of his cockhead was angry, the little thing glistening and a reddish purple. Spike was beautiful, all fucked out and desperate. He looked absolutely wrecked when Jet pulled out, the smaller sobbing as he scratched at Jet's thighs. "Jet, Jet no please please" Spike cried. Honest to god, cried. It was a sight to behold all on its own. Really, it should be. Spike sniffled and wept large tears, most of them repressed and filled with old, faded memories. He whimpered as Jet reached for the lube, watching needily as it was poured over the larger.
It was tantalizing, watch Jet steady himself. The larger fisted his cock and pumped it, the thing looking proportional with his massive self. The tip was red and leaking bad, Spike needed that to breed his insides. The shaft, thick and impossible with girth, looked like something out of a porn flick than real life. Just thinking about it, being split atop it and fucked pregnant with Jet's seed, was enough to get Spike close again.
“Ready?” Pausing, Jet looked at the smaller, cock in hand. Spike had taken it upon himself to hold his ass open, hands gripped and cheeks spread. Jet could see the way his hole, puffy and pink at the rim, fluttered with his voice. He saw the way Spike whimpered quietly, tears still falling steamily. His face was red, puffy, and fucked out beyond means. He looked akin to a common townwhore than a best friend. Maybe he was both, in a kinky, sharing way.
Spike, thought, had lost himself in thought. Only for a moment, though. He pondered on that word, ready. It was simple, a one worded thing. In reality, he was ready, more than ready. He needed Jet to fuck him open and ruin his insides. Spike wanted to push him down and split himself on Jet's cock until he could swallow it too. Emotionally, though, Spike would never be ready. Jet as a friend, a housemate and work partner. A life partner. A life partner about to ruin him into a cock drunk, fucked out mess.
Nodding, Spike caught his lip between his teeth. Jet didn't savour any time he had left. Thank god.
Wasting no time, Jet pushed his hips forward. His cockhead entered Spike with a word shattering precision. The smaller rushed to grip at his arms, scrambling for purchase and relief. Spike's back arched ss Jet fucked ingo his puffy pink rim. His rhythm was steady and fucking merciless. He would thrust forward, stall, then fuck forward a little more. By the time he was done and bottomed out, Spike was seeing stars.
Every inch of him was filled by Jet's cock. The larger was pushing, pressing against his every wall and seam. Spike was scared he'd need to be sewed back up, he was so full ans fucked out already. He hadn't seen it coming when he reached orgasm, he really couldn't. It was one of those slow, climatic building ones. The kind that sneak up and throw you off your feet. For a couple seconds, all Spike could see was white. His back arched painfully into Jet's front, his legs shaking so bad the larger had to hold them up, then back. Someone was screaming, and oh god it was him. By the time he got back, Jet was utterly enamoured with what he saw. The look in his eye, the position they were in. Spike even hesitated to call it missionary. It was closer to a mating press than anything. But, whatever it was, it was downright sinful.
"Fuck-" That was all Jet could take. Pushing Spike up more, Jet had truly placed him in a mating press. Groaning hot and rugged, Jet pulled from Spike's insides. His cock rubbed against every wall Spike had, making him sob from overstimulation. Stopping at the tip, Jet leaned down to press a kiss to Spike's face, then slammed down hard. He had split Spike open, fucking him in half with wild abandon. Spike moaned high, and loud, his voice officially raw from use. The sound of skin slapping filled the room, mixing gleefully with Spike's sobs and Jet's whimpering moans.
Taking advantage of their close situation, Spike pulled at Jet's skin. He tugged and held the larger as he fucked hard, and ruthlessly into his hole. Scratching his back, drawing lines of blood, Spike babbled in Jet's ear. He couldn't tell what he was saying, and he hoped Jet couldn't either. Words like breed, cum and use me were the most common in Spike's mind. It drove Jet insane, all of this did. Jet was pinned against a crying, wanton moaning man, whose hole was taking him so well. Spike's thighs were pushed beautifully against his chest, keeping him open for Jet's use. Jet even kept his mouth busy, opting to suck and bite down hard at Spike's skin.
“J-Jet-! Jet fuck, fuck Jet please! God, you’re so-FuCK!” Spike cried. He couldn’t even speak His words were clipped, air punched from his shaking body. Every thrust of Jet’s cock pushed his body up, bumping his head up to Jet’s wooden headboard.
Spike was going to go insane. He swore he already had gone insane. Jet’s lips marked purple rings into his neck, onto his ears, and over his face. Bright red teeth marks glowed over Spike’s skin, the deepest and darkest over the crook of Spike’s shoulder. It felt like Jet claimed Spike with the bite, and he had. Jet claimed Spike as his. His Spike. His boy, his good boy. His pretty little cocktoy to fuck as he liked. Jet even told him so. Jet murmured sweet words, and degrading praise into Spike’s ears. Each word, each share of good boy and that’s my fucktoy got Spike closer and closer. He was so close, his thighs shook violently and eyes rolled. Jet stopped briefly to reposition, to adjust Spike and split him open more.
God, even the repositioning was the best decision Jet ever made. Spike would swear up and down once he stopped screaming Jet’s name. From Jet’s miracle repairs on the Bebop to his quick thinking that saved him repeatedly; angling his hips to thump against his prostate was the best thing Jet’s ever done.
Jet’s strokes felt like pure bliss.
It was ecstasy.
Pure godamn rapture .
Spike was close. He was close he was close he was-
“F-Fuck-! Cumming! Jet! Jet I-’m cumming JeT FUCK!” Spike came with a shriek. His knees beat against Jet's heaving chest, the orgasm borderline violent. He had been a good boy. Spike took what Jet gave him and cried with joy. Spike deserved this god damn orgasm. He deserved the white that flooded his vision, the numbing bliss that left his limbs slack. Spike even deserved the white stickiness that spread up to his tits, his cum mixing in a welcomed bliss.
His body went slack as Jet chased his own orgasm, his moans dangerously beautiful. Jet rarely moaned, truth be told. He liked to stay quiet in bed, it was easier on his throat and head. But, the throbbing pull of Spike’s walls helped him let go. Spike helped him let go. Helped him lax his wound-up shoulders and fuck deep into Spike. Helped him stop giving a fuck about gentleness and grab, bite and squeeze whatever he pleased. Helped him cage Spike and moan with sloppy strokes.
Spike’s tight walls, strung-out moans and fucked out face helped Jet cum, cum deep deep deep inside Spike. His legs tightened from either side of Spike, pushing him down in a true mating press. Jet even let his body slump down, shoving his cock deeper into Spike. His cockhead even pushed hard against Spike’s prostate, bringing him to a third, earth-shattering orgasm. This time Spike was silent, save for his fucked-out whimpers and whines.
Breathing, Jet lay still inside Spike. He couldn’t move, it was too much. Too much for them both . Neither had the breath to bear another ounce of stimulation or another orgasm.
Jet simply breathed.
In. And out.
He breathed as Spike caught up to him, their breath evening to a slow steadying pace. Jet breathed until Spike couldn’t again, and he was crying in gentle sobs. Soft, gentle sobs.
“Hey, hey hey, wha’s wrong hon.” Jet shifted as he stayed, careful not to move his cock. Taking his human hand, he brushed down on Spike’s face. His robotic one was nestled in Spike’s curly green hair, rubbing easy circles on his buzzing scalp. It was soothing. Jet was soothing.
“It-It was just-It was r-really good. M’ sorry Jet, it was s-so good.” Spike bawled. His lips quivered in a small line, hands matching as he cupped Jet’s hands. He didn’t expect much from his outburst, he was honestly too drunk to expect things at all. Yet, Jet was kind enough to lean down, peppering his face with pretty kisses. Pretty kisses for a good boy. For his good boy. For taking him so well, for doing so good, for being so good. Jet praised him for almost everything there was, and everything there’d be about him. Even as Jet pulled from inside Spike, and Spike leaked Jet’s cum, he continued to praise Spike.
Spike soaked the praise like aloe soaks rainwater. He soaked up every word as Jet wandered away, collecting damp rags, new clothes and warm blankets. Spike soaked up Jet’s praise as he wiped the sweat, spit and cum from his body. He soaked up Jet’s praise as Jet covered him in too-large clothes, his clothes. Spike even soaked up Jet’s praise as he clothed himself, and bundled them both in the warm blankets.
Spike couldn’t help but feel lucky when it was all said and done. He felt lucky to be Jet’s. Lucky to be in Jet’s bed, in Jet’s arms, in Jet’s everything. At first, Spike couldn’t help but feel guilty for being in Jet’s everything. He was crawling all over Jet’s life. Jet’s Bebop. Jet’s woolong account. Spike was everywhere Jet was and had been.
Now, laying drunk, fucked stupid and wiped clean, Spike didn’t feel guilty at all.
He was a happy, loved, and drunk guy.