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Forbidden Fruit

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Spike can’t pretend to be totally ignorant. He remembers the way Hoax looked at him the first time they went swimming together when they were little kids, with Spike wearing those snug-fit boardshorts he’d saved up for at the mall and Hoax wearing long-sleeved rash guards and water-shoes, a practice rigidly enforced by his mom.

He remembers Hoax’s eyes roaming over Spike’s bare chest, the peculiar pucker of his lips, the line that appeared between his brows. 

So when Hoax puts those strange new hands on Spike when his claws dig into the bare skin of Spike’s neck when he pins Spike down on his stomach on the gambling table

Spike knows exactly what’s going on.


As best he can, Spike convinces himself it’s all a bad dream. In the morning he’ll wake up and he’ll be back in his shitty little room listening to the pipe between his house and Hoax’s rattle as a new message comes in. 

He feels the air on his back as Hoax peels his leather jacket. He feels scales against his skin. If he cranes his neck, he can just make out Hoax’s reflection in a dusty mirror across the room. Those new reptilian eyes glint back at him, pupils slitted, giving off a diseased yellow glow. 

“Hoax,” Spike says, and he doesn’t like how choked his voice sounds. He’s using the same tone Hoax’s mom uses in prayer.

Just a dream, he tells himself.

When Hoax’s teeth find Spike’s neck, they’re so sharp they slice right through the skin like needles. If he survives this, he knows that will leave the nastiest bruise a big, dark, swollen goose egg with puncture marks in the middle, worse than anything he’s ever got in a fistfight or crashing his bike. 

He feels the blunt head of Hoax’s cock against his entrance. When it pushes inside him, there are scales all up and down the length of it, leaving raw abrasions inside Spike with every thrust.

The wound on his neck is pulsing, throbbing. He imagines venom dripping from Hoax’s new fangs into the split flesh on Spike’s neck.

He pretends not to feel Hoax’s lips against his ear. He pretends not to hear that unfamiliar deep voice coming from his cousin’s throat.

He pretends not to hear the whisper, “Do I tempt you? Like I tempted Eve?”

Just a dream, he tells himself again, squeezing his eyes shut, trying not to whimper from the pain. Just a dream.