NC-17, fluffy PWP
All is Joss's not mine.
For The Mad Poetess, as promised
Thanks to WesleysGirl for the beta
This one has two endings, one of which is the fault of James Walkswithwind.
This was written for The Mad Poetess after I made her a promise at BuffyCon in New Jersey in June 2003. //-->
Xander shook his head as he watched Spike getting ready. “Are you
sure about this?” he asked. “Seeing as how the last time went so
horribly, horribly wrong and all. Giles is going to have a fit.”
Spike paused as he walked through the bedroom, his hands full of things Xander could only identify as ‘make-up’. Even after years of hanging out with Buffy and Willow, he could barely tell lipstick from mascara. Both of which he could see.
“Rupert will be fine,” Spike said with an evil grin. Hardly encouraging, really. “It’s been months since the last time, and this is classic. Completely guaranteed to get a reaction.”
That much was true, Xander had no doubt. Anyone would react. Hard not to react in some way to a blond vampire dressed up in a black corset. With or without the make-up, Spike was going to get a reaction.
At the moment, however, Spike was still in jeans, though the t-shirt had gotten lost somewhere on the walk from the living room to the bedroom. Xander sprawled on the bed and watched Spike start to put on the make-up.
“How do you do that?” Xander asked after a moment.
“Do what?” Spike raised an eyebrow at him. The scarred eyebrow, of course. Xander wondered if the other eyebrow ever got jealous due to lack of attention. He had a sudden urge to go over and lick it, so it didn’t feel left out.
“Put on make-up like you know what you’re doing,” Xander replied, shifting on the bed and stomping on the licking urge.
“Well, there was this thing called the seventies, you see. Glam rock and all that—which I didn’t get into so much as punk, but David Bowie was all right. Everyone wore make-up.” He rouged his cheeks with a flourish, his eyes already ringed in black. He smirked as he reached for the lipstick. “’Course, that’s ancient history to you, isn’t it?”
“You’re ancient history to me,” Xander said before he thought it out. Which was about par, really.
“Oh, how sweet. Now shift your arse and hand me the bag by the closet door will you?” Spike painted his mouth whore red with smooth strokes.
Xander wouldn’t say it out loud, but Spike looked pretty edible like that. He was a man, no way of forgetting that, but made up he was…well, damn nearer to pretty than usual, and that made him very pretty. If he was going to keep the promise he’d made to never to call Spike ‘pretty’ they’d best get this show on the road. And when it was done, one or both of them would be dead by Giles’ hand, and it wouldn’t matter.
Xander reached for the bag, catching it on the side instead of the top, and spilling its contents onto the floor. With a low whistle, he reached down and picked up a slip of black silk. “Stockings?” he squeaked.
“Well, yeah,” Spike said with a snarl, reaching for the stocking as he swept up the rest of the things on the floor with the other hand. “What did you think I was gonna wear—me bare legs? Please. Authenticity is the way to go for this. Corset means silk stockings.”
“I don’t think Giles wore stockings when he was on stage.” Xander refused to think about Giles in stockings.
Spike just snorted. “Whatever you say. I’ll be right back—“
Xander fell onto the bed again. “Where are you going?”
“Gonna change. Into this stuff, right? Don’t want you to see it going on, will ruin the effect.”
Personally, Xander thought Spike just wanted to be alone to talk himself into wearing the stockings. That thought didn’t hold up under any amount of scrutiny, however—the whole thing was Spike’s idea, after all, and when did he ever have a second thought? Or personal shame, for that matter?
Xander lay on the bed with his arms behind his head and listened to the sounds of thumping and banging coming from the bathroom. God, what was he doing in there? How hard could it be to strip down and put on a corset? His brain got a little stuck somewhere between the stripping down and the putting on, and he missed the sound of the door opening.
“Give us a hand?” Spike said, sounding frustrated and petulant.
Xander sat up and stared.
Spike was staring back, but his frown smoothed out as Xander’s jaw dropped. Long legs smoothed over in silk stockings. A few inches of bare thigh, and then black panties, for fuck’s sake. Panties. The corset was leather, like Spike would wear anything else, and then the impossibly lovely make-up on his face. Xander felt parts of his brain shut off as blood rushed south.
“What?” Xander asked, not caring if he sounded stupid.
“Said, give us a hand.” Spike turned around and tugged on the corset laces. “Tighten me up.”
Xander swallowed hard and stood up. “Uh, yeah. Okay. I can do that.”
He stood behind Spike and tugged on the laces, concentrating on adjusting the cords as he tightened them. He knew he was breathing faster, knew Spike could hear it, but the thought was distant.
“No…things. To hold the stockings,” he said numbly, trying to adjust the bottom lace.
“What? Oh, no. They have this…rubber kind of thing around the top so they stay up. Make it tighter, Xander.” Spike wiggled his hips a little and tugged on the edge of the corset. “Don’t need garters—they look good, but if you want to take off your pants the garters have to go on the inside and that looks dumb if you’re walking around like this. Why are you asking anyway?”
“I wasn’t asking, I was just…noticing.”
“Right. Bloody hell, Xander. Tighter. Come on, you’re big and strong, just pull, for Christ’s sake.” Spike leaned forward a little and held onto the dresser.
Xander shook his head, but did what he was told, crossing over the ends and pulling hard. Spike gasped and his back arched, his ass raising as his waist was cinched tight.
Xander stared, his cock suddenly harder than it had been in…well, a long long time. “Spike?”
“We’re going to be late.”
“Are we?” Spike asked, looking over his shoulder.
“Oh yeah.” Xander tied the corset laces with shaking fingers, then ran his hands over Spike’s hips, feeling where the leather ended and the skin started. “Silk?” he asked as he fingered the edge of the black panties.
“Uh huh.” There was a teasing note in Spike’s voice, but it was cut through with the dark edge of rising need. Xander loved that sound. “Like?”
Xander nodded, his mouth grazing Spike’s shoulder. “Not bad,” he said as his fingers traced the lower edges. “Like the feel of it.” Xander splayed his hand wide, the upper fingers still on the black silk, the lower on the stockings.
Spike made a low noise and pushed back, rubbing his silk clad ass against Xander’s groin. “So do I.”
“Don’t move,” Xander whispered, his breath quickening further. He rubbed his denim-trapped erection against Spike, his hands moving again. “Don’t let go of the dresser.”
Spike nodded and made another sound, one that sounded almost pleading.
Xander’s cock throbbed in response. “Oh, you like that. I know,” Xander purred, rubbing harder, his hands wandering over Spike’s thighs, feeling the muscles under the silk. “I always know.”
“Everyone always knows,” Spike said mockingly. “I don’t aim for subtle often.” The mocking tone turned to something else as Xander’s hand palmed Spike’s hard-on. “Oh bloody hell.”
Xander tried to chuckle, but it sounded a little hysterical to his own ears. He was having trouble thinking. He could smell leather and Spike, and it was just like always that way, but this was something else. This was Spike in leather and steel; this was Spike in silk and leather; this was Spike in make-up, and holy fuck he was going to come in his pants if he didn’t get out of them. He squeezed Spike’s cock once before letting go, both of them moaning.
He pulled off his shirt in one fluid movement, had his jeans undone and off as soon as he could. Xander wrapped his arms around Spike, fingers digging into the leather as he ground his prick against the silk on Spike’s ass. “Oh shit. Silk nice.”
Spike groaned and pushed back, and Xander was humping him like mad, his cock leaking and aching, his balls heavy.
“Fuck me, Xander,” Spike said hoarsely. “Christ, just do it—need you in me.”
Xander groaned and froze, only a minor miracle keeping him from coming then and there. “Lube?” he asked when he could.
The dresser creaked as Spike’s arms flexed. “Same place as always, nitwit.”
Xander bit him on the shoulder and stepped back, going to the bedside table. When he turned around, lube in hand, he stared once more. Spike was stunning, utterly perfect. Almost.
“What about shoes?” Xander asked slowly, his hand going to his own groin and cupping his balls.
Spike blinked at him for a moment. “Boots.” Then his expression cleared, grew wicked. “Want me to put ‘em on?”
“Fuck yes,” Xander said, starting to stroke his cock slowly.
It took an eternity for Spike to get the boots on. Patent leather, they came up over his knees, lacing all the way, and when Spike stood up he was several inches taller.
“Oh god,” Xander whimpered.
He didn’t really remember moving to Spike, or falling to his knees, but there he was, licking at Spike’s cock through the silk, wet from Spike’s pre-come, his mouth moving restlessly up and down the length of it.
Spike gasped and pushed into him, hands tangled in Xander’s hair. “Xander—oh shit—Xander.” He sounded like he had something else to say, but the words were choked out by the groans.
Xander licked him again, dragged his teeth gently over the silk, and Spike swore again. “Gonna fuck you now,” Xander said, looking up into Spike’s eyes.
Spike turned his body a quarter turn and held onto the dresser again. “Hard.”
“Oh yeah,” Xander growled, standing up. He tore the silk away and slicked his fingers and cock as quickly as he could, then licked Spike’s neck. “Spread your legs a little more. Gonna fuck you so hard you start to breathe.”
Spike gave a harsh noise that tried to be both a laugh and a groan, but he spread his feet a little more, his ass tilting from the way the heels had him leaning forward.
Xander groaned as well, his fingers opening Spike quickly, as fast as he dared. He knew Spike didn’t mind a little pain, liked it rough, but Xander still preferred to make sure his lover was ready. Usually. This time, though, with Spike riding his fingers and swearing under his breath, it didn’t seem so important.
Not as important as getting in there, as being inside that tight hole and just pounding away until they both screamed. One fast hard thrust and he was doing just that, hips snapping as he ploughed into Spike, hands gripping Spike’s hips hard enough to bruise a human—maybe even a vampire, though they’d fade too fast.
“Jesus,” Spike moaned. “There, oh fuck me, right there!”
Xander grunted and pulled Spike back onto his cock, going deep and hitting the spot Spike wanted, over and over. Even he could smell it, sex and passion and leather, the mix heady. Spike must have been half out of his mind.
Xander plunged into him again, scraping his teeth over Spike’s shoulder. He wanted to say something, to tell Spike how hot he looked, how fucking good he felt, but he could barely breathe, let alone talk. Spike was grunting with him, every thrust making them rock into the dresser, and Xander finally found the presence of mind to unpry one hand and find Spike’s cock with it.
Wet with pre-come, so hard it had to hurt, Xander stroked Spike firmly once, then again.
Spike screamed and came, spasming around Xander’s prick, pulling Xander right to the edge. It was the smell of it, the sound of spunk hitting the front of the dresser that made Xander finally go wild, thrusting without finesse or rhythm, just fucking him until his eyes rolled back and he came as well, cock throbbing as he shot.
Panting, he leaned his head on Spike’s back, breathing in the smell of leather, his hands touching silk on Spike’s legs, leather on his chest. “Holy fuck,” he gasped.
Spike nodded, his hands still gripping the dresser. “Bloody good, love.” There was a pause and Spike asked, “We still going to the party?”
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