Written for [info]spring_with_xan

This NC-17 rated PWP clocks in at 1692 words and fulfils the prompt "Sexual Healing" on my 10 cliche fics table.

Standard disclaimers apply.

Many thanks to [info]cordelianne and [info]apreludetoanend for beta reading; any remaining errors are entirely my own (and please feel free to point them out.)

Set rather vaguely in early season 7 BtVS, this carries a warning for injury to Xander's delicate bits. (But remember the prompt. All shall be well.)



The alarm had the temerity to interrupt a particularly vivid dream involving not only Amy Yip but also Brad Pitt and Scott Bakula at the waterslide park. Xander stumbled to the shower marginally awake and desperately horny. Even having to pee didn’t bring down his hard-on. Shame there wasn’t anybody around to appreciate it.

He scrubbed and rinsed rapidly, then stood with legs spread and back braced against the wall, soap-slick fingers pulling him rapidly towards climax. One hand wandered back to cup his balls; the other tightened around the base of his cock as he rocked back and forth in the shower spray. The gentle pulses of warm water caressed and tickled him, teasing his sensitized flesh, spinning out the pleasure. He held his breath, almost there, hold back, god it’s good, just a little longer, gonna shoot so hard…

…and suddenly the water turned utterly scalding. Xander screamed, buckled to the floor around searing pain in his groin, and lashed wildly out at the taps until he managed to get the water off.

The pain was beyond belief. He sucked in great gulps of air, trying not to pass out, working up the nerve to look down at his injured genitals.

When he did, he nearly passed out again. His thighs and lower stomach were cherry-red, and his now-limp cock looked angry and boiled. He couldn’t see any blisters, but the gentlest touch sent white-hot needles of agony through his groin right up to his brain, and he collapsed into a whimpering heap for another few minutes.

Okay, basic first aid for burns. Apply ice water. Yeah, right.

He hauled himself gingerly to a kneeling position and began to fill the tub with cold water. It swirled around his knees; his teeth began to chatter. Arms trembling, he lowered his body – and screamed again as the water touched his cock. He managed to soak it for about ten seconds before struggling to his feet and stumbling out to stand gasping and dripping on the bathmat.

He toweled off with extreme care, leaving the burned bits to air-dry. Fuck. I can’t go to work like this – I can’t even get dressed. He phoned in sick, avoiding a precise description of his ailment, downed a couple of the heavy-duty painkillers from the back of the medicine cabinet, and hobbled back to bed. Wonder if I should go to the hospital? And again with the getting dressed problem. No blisters means it’s first degree, right? I’ll just rest a while. And try not to wonder if I’ll ever have sex again.

He had to lie on his back. Even the touch of the thin cotton sheet was too painful; he rigged up a little tent holding it away from his crotch. He lay staring blankly at the ceiling, feeling the adrenaline ebb away and the pain settle to a dull throb, finally closing his eyes and drifting off.


He awoke when the front door banged open.

And banged shut.

There was a stifled gasp.

“Harris? What the hell happened?”

Spike appeared in the bedroom doorway. Xander groaned, pulling the pillow from under his head and covering his face.

“Spike. My humiliation is now complete. Go away. Tell Buffy I’ll be fine.” He paused. “But highly contagious for several days, and not under any circumstances to be visited.”

Spike didn’t go away.

“Christ, Harris, what happened to you? It smells…”

Dead silence. Xander just knew where he was looking.

“Seriously, Spike,” his voice cracked, “just go. Mock me for the rest of my life, but I can not deal right now. If you have – augh!”

Cool gust of air as Spike yanked back the sheet. More stunned silence.

“Bloody hell.”

A muffled “No shit” from beneath the pillow.

“That needs seeing to.”

“How?” Xander hurled the pillow across the room, raised his head and glared at Spike. Tears of fury and fear prickled behind his eyes; he blinked angrily. “I can’t get dressed, it’s fucking killing me. And what are they going to do, anyway? Skin graft my dick?”

He dropped his head back. “I just need to rest. It’ll heal.”

“You willing to risk that?”

Was that concern in Spike’s voice? No way.

“Not seeing alternatives.”

“Magical healing?”

Xander sighed. “I’m not asking Willow to break her no-magic rules over this.”

“Spells aren’t the only way.” Feet shuffled. A cough. “Vampire saliva. Got remarkable healing properties. ‘S in all the books.”

“What?!” Xander croaked. A day can only contain so much surrealism. “You’re suggesting you, what, lick me better?” He groped around the bed, but no more pillows were handy for concealment. “Why the – what do you get out of this?”

“I get to lick you,” Spike said, in a voice Xander had never heard before.

He looked down at Spike again, and stopped breathing in shock. No trace of mockery marred the intensity or heat in Spike’s expression as he stared at Xander’s body. Xander dropped his gaze to Spike’s crotch, and gulped.

Spike is busting out of his jeans for me? No way. I’m delirious. I’m hallucinating from the pain.

“You smell… irresistible right now.” Spike closed his eyes, grimacing. “You always smell fucking amazing, ‘s why you’re a bloody demon magnet. Edible.” He inhaled deeply and groaned. “And right now this room smells like pain, and fear, and lust, and you. Enough to drive a vampire insane.”

Insanity’s one word for it.

Xander felt light-headed – from pain, shock, drugs, adrenaline, and the creeping return of desire. Brad and Scott had teased him in his dream, but that was nothing compared to the reality of Spike staring like this. Talking like this. To him.

He licked his lips.

“I – if you think it’ll help – ”

Spike’s eyes flashed and he leant forward; the mattress dipped under his weight. Xander watched disbelievingly as the platinum head lowered towards his groin. Spike is going to… His cock began to stiffen – and abruptly deflated, the burnt skin protesting, as he winced and gasped in agony.

“See you haven’t damaged the hydraulics,” Spike said in a low voice. “That’s good.”

The first touch on his abused flesh made him whimper. Gently, oh so very gently, cool lips encircled him. No suction, no friction, just soothing wetness bathing him. The constant ache began to ebb and he let out a tiny startled sigh.

Tongue now, lightest of touches, tracing up and down, spreading that glorious cool relief from head to root. Pain receded like the tide, leaving him feeling drained, starfished and boneless on the shore.

In its wake came tiny lapping waves of lust.

His cock began to lengthen and rise again and this time there was no agony to force it down. He kept his eyes shut, willing things to subside. The skin started to stretch, but Spike’s mouth was back around him, taking him deeper in, bathing him with more healing saliva, and it felt too damn good for even the most unsexy thoughts to dampen his interest.

Besides, he wasn’t thinking unsexy thoughts. His traitorous brain was having thoughts of the decidedly sexy variety. Oh god. My dick is in Spike’s mouth! Those lips, and the way he looked at me – his erection pulsed even harder and he moaned against his will.

An almost inaudible moan answered him. He cracked his eyes open. Spike supported himself on both elbows, keeping away from Xander’s injured thighs. His head was bent as his mouth continued its magic, and his ass was flexing as he humped the mattress. Spike is getting off on sucking me. Oh, god.

Xander couldn’t hold back any longer. He began to pant; his hips bucked, pushing his now-rigid cock further into Spike’s mouth, begging.

Spike paused for a moment, looking up Xander’s body. Their gazes locked, a moment frozen in blue ice, and then Xander whimpered again, wriggled and thrust against Spike’s tongue, and things got frantic.

Spike growled low and deep – the vibrations drawing a gasp from Xander – and shifted his stance, gripping Xander’s hips and pinning him hard to the bed. He dropped his mouth to Xander’s balls, sucking in first one, then the other, then began licking his thighs in long, deliberate strokes, soothing and healing the reddened skin.

Xander was whining, thrashing his head from side to side, and writhing in Spike’s unyielding hold. All pain was gone – now he was desperate for relief of a different kind. The orgasm denied him that morning was building, tidal wave of need, still far-off on the horizon but driving inexorably for the shore.

The bed creaked rhythmically. Spike swallowed him down again and went all out, tongue and teeth and suction. The first breakers hit, and Xander dissolved in a maelstrom of salt and joyous oblivion.

Consciousness was overrated.


He awoke when the front door banged open.

And banged shut.

The smell of pepperoni preceded Spike into the room.

“You got pizza?” Xander rolled over, feeling weak. But hey, at least he could roll over. “Please tell me you paid the delivery guy.”

“’Course I did.” Spike dropped the box on the bed. “You left your wallet on the counter.” He watched as Xander peeled off a slice and took a huge bite. “Look like you’re feeling better.”

Xander chewed, swallowed, nodded. “Yup. I feel... pretty damn good, actually.” He pleated the pizza, not looking up. “You?”

“Not half bad,” Spike allowed, claiming his own piece of pizza.

“I, uh…” Xander squirmed. “That was kind of, well, one-sided and I…”

He trailed off as he noticed Spike was wearing a pair of his old sweat pants. Well, mostly wearing. They were doing their best to escape.

Which was a pretty distracting sight. And confirmed that his nether regions were intact and fully functional.

And that apparently things hadn’t been completely one-sided.

Giddiness swept through him, buoyed him up. The insanity of Sunnydale was on his side for once.

“So,” he finished his pizza, “I smell good, do I?”

“Well,” Spike sniffed, “not so much right now. You could use a shower.”

Xander flinched. Spike smirked. And pounced.

The End

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