Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Turning Point ❯ Turning Point ( One-Shot )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Vicious hissed in pain as he was thrust against the wall, the door barely clicking closed behind them before Spike's mouth crushed against his. Spike had one hand on the bandage, one hand on the opposite shoulder, and Vicious was almost drunk on adrenaline, glimpses of the fight and their run for cover flashing behind his eyelids while the other man's tongue battled with his own.

//Ambushed, a half-dozen in the alley and snipers on the roof, classic double-cross. Heads would roll for this, provided they survived the night. Urge for the fight rose hot in the back of his throat as he drew his sword and braced for the attack.//

A hand under his shirt, fumbling it off his shoulders, and a thigh thrust between his legs to grind, grind, driving need higher within him like a serpent winding around his spine. Spike's other hand continued to clench around the wound in his upper arm. Vicious didn't mind the pain.

//Back to back, sword drawn and weaving a desperate defense in front of him, comforting crack of Spike's pistol behind him, and one by one the others began to fall.//

He bucked against Spike, bare skin of his chest against Spike's shirt front, futile attempt to gain the upper hand, a measure of control. Spike growled and slammed him back against the wall hard enough to stun, biting and marking a fiery path down his neck and chest, and on Vicious' left arm fresh blood began to leak from between his fingers.

//There had been no warning -- of course not -- and Vicious had to wonder if the Red Dragon had grown tired of waiting, taking the decision out of his hands. A shadow on the roof, one sniper unaccounted for, and a muzzle-flash...//

Spike latched onto one of his nipples, biting hard, and Vicious clawed at his back as the pleasure/pain sparked behind his eyes. The other man tore at the fly of Vicious' pants with a jerk, snarling and sending buttons to skitter across the floor. His own he merely hitched down to his thighs while Vicious kicked a leg free of cloth and wound it around his back. Spike released his arm and brought fingers to Vicious' mouth where he suckled them greedily, copper tang of his own blood slamming against his senses and lidding his eyes in pleasure. Those fingers thrust into him coated in saliva and traces of blood, tugging roughly and stretching him.

/No, too much... too careful,/ Vicious thought, and he bit savagely at Spike's earlobe. "Do it," he hissed around the skin between his teeth. "Do it *now*."

Spike groaned and plunged into him, and *yes*, this was what he needed, what he craved. Vicious cried out, rocking and slamming into the wall as Spike thrust into him, his fingers tearing at the cloth of Spike's jacket.

//His sword buried in the chest of his opponent, he couldn't possibly bring it up and across in time, couldn't possibly.... Vicious shifted just enough, putting himself between the bullet and Spike's unprotected back, and felt it bite into the flesh of his arm.//

Vicious' head fell back against the wall with a thud, and he realized distantly that Spike had pressed his face into his neck, whispering a litany against his skin in time with their coupling.

"Don't leave, don't leave, don't leave...."

The furious pounding across his prostate was already sending Vicious' orgasm clawing its way up his spine, and with sudden clarity his vision sparked again behind his lids.

//... fall of blond hair, curve of a woman's jaw, a certain softening around Spike's eyes...//

/I won't leave him,/ Vicious realized. /He'll leave *me*./

And at that moment, with Spike shuddering inside him and his own climax boiling up to spill between their bodies, Vicious made his decision.