PAIRING: Spike/Xander
RATING: NC-17 for porn

GENRE: PWP, Slash

SUMMARY: Smut. Really. Just some gratuitous PWP – whenever something remotely resembling plot dared rear its ugly head I hit it with a baseball bat. Oh, and to speed things up a little I made the guys a little more out of character than usual…

SPOILERS: Set S7, some time after “Him”

DEDICATION: This was expressly written for LadyCat because she’s such a great beta and deserves some kind of compensation for the fact that I usurp so much of her time.

Disclaimer: The characters in the following stories are the original creation of Joss Whedon and are owned by Mutant Enemy. I am borrowing these characters from Mr. Whedon's series "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel:The Series". No infringement of rights is intended.

Nominated in the Precious Kisses Awards, category: Best Series





The Pandora!Verse


by
Estepheia



Pandora's Closet

“Spike, have you seen my—” Xander stops abruptly. Spike sits sprawled on his bed, his back leaning against the wall. His pants are open and pushed down enough to reveal a pretty impressive erection, his left hand wrapped around his cock. The hand is not moving - all movement has been suspended when Xander barged into Spike’s closet.

Xander knows he’s standing with his mouth open. “Oh fuck,” is his not-so-witty reaction.

For a moment Spike appears embarrassed but then he gives Xander a look of outrageously fake innocence: pursed lips, raised eyebrows, batting eyelashes, the works. Soul or no, Spike has a certain image to uphold - at least when it comes to Xander. He’s not going to hastily cover himself like a nervous adolescent.

“Xander, what can I do for you?” he asks with just enough irony to turn the question into something resembling an invitation.

He tosses the magazine away so it lands open at the foot end of the bed. Xander automatically cranes his neck to look at the open page: One woman, two men – one blond, one brunette, with the blond man sucking the other guy’s dick while fucking the girl. Xander recognizes the mag, and that particular page. One of his favorites. Anya’s too. No way is this a coincidence.

“You went through my stuff,” Xander blurts out. He remembers the other contents of his and Anya’s well stocked box of pleasures and feels himself blushing.

Spike’s smile widens a fraction. “Merely livin’ up to your expectations.”

Now would be the time for Xander to leave, but his feet seem to be superglued to the floor. His heart is racing and his dick feels rock hard. Swell.

“What? You gonna stand there all day? Either join the fun or get out.” And with that Spike moves his hand up and down, jerking off with slow and deliberate strokes, ogling Xander. Gah!

‘Join?’ The option hasn’t even occurred to Xander. In fact, the remark is so left field that Xander automatically looks behind him to check if maybe Spike’s talking to someone else. Or maybe Xander’s just doing a reality check, making sure there’s no dream audience there to witness this surreal scene. “You’re a pig, Spike,” he splutters.

“Just horny.” The vampire corrects him, truthfully. “How ‘bout you?”

Okay, Xander recognizes a gauntlet when it slaps him. “I’m twenty-two and flying solo,” he says. “Of course I’m horny. Doesn’t make you hitting on me any less scary.” Is this a kind of aftereffect of the magical jacket? It works on guys, too? Xander resists the urge to touch the little button in his pocket. The one he found lying on the carpet and recognized as RJ’s, the one he really had no intention of keeping.

“Well, you know that I’m crazy, right? Means I’m bound to do crazy things. Also means I tend to forget those things afterwards.”

“I’m not gay.”

“Never said you were. I’m not.” Spike shrugs without once breaking the slow mesmerizing rhythm of his hand. “Just open-minded.”

“And horny,” Xander adds, unable to tear his eyes away from that pale long cock. Okay, it’s not the first time he sees another man’s dick in real life, but it’s definitely the first time someone is jerking off in his presence. His mouth feels dry.

Spike follows Xander’s gaze to his own hard-on and does a perfect double take. “Indeed, I am,” he exclaims in fake surprise. He looks up. “And look, so are you!” Spike’s practiced leer could put a shark to shame.

Xander back-pedals. His foot connects with the open door behind him and gives it a push. With a clack the door falls shut - with Xander still inside. Oops.

Spike gracefully gets to his feet and saunters over to where Xander is standing. He smiles. “Welcome to my parlor…”

“…said the spider to the fly,” Xander finishes the sentence. It’s too late for a dignified retreat now, but probably not too late to bolt.

Spike stands before him, his gaze traveling back and forth between Xander’s lips and eyes, exuding a strange nervousness. He’s obviously worked up, but hesitating. ‘Timid’ is the word that comes to Xander’s mind. As if all of Spike’s courage got spent bringing him this close.

It’s the sudden realization that Spike isn’t the spider in this scenario that tips the scales. An almost overwhelming rush of arousal makes Xander’s hard-on twitch. He grabs Spike’s shirt, yanks him forward and crushes his mouth on cool parted lips.

So what if Spike’s a guy. Xander’s a grown up and he can be ‘open-minded’ if he wants to. Heck, considering the things he and Anya have done this is pretty much the last thing he hasn’t at least tried. If it sucks he can always file this under ‘been there, done that, nothing to write home about.’

Except it doesn’t suck. It’s hungry, greedy and god, so hot! Xander boldly thrusts his tongue into the vampire’s mouth. Spike’s resistance is perfunctory: he’s breathing heavily and angling his head, inviting Xander to deepen the kiss. Xander lets go of Spike’s shirt and pushes it off his shoulders, then wraps his arms around him. Spike responds by pressing his whole body against him. He’s willing alright. Briefly letting go of that hungry mouth Xander slips his hands underneath Spike’s T-shirt and clumsily bunches it upwards. Without hesitation Spike lifts his arms, letting Xander pull the T-shirt over his head.

Then there’s more kissing.

It’s weird at first, brushing his hands over a chest without boobs, but the nipple he finds is just as sensitive, hardening under his touch. Xander gives it a sharp twist, causing Spike to pant and buck against him. Okay, that’s something a man could get used to. Xander continues to squeeze and tease, experimenting with rough and well, rougher, until Spike is whimpering into his mouth. “Oh god, yes.” Spike breathes between kisses. He’s frantically rubbing his erection against Xander’s hip.

Xander loves kissing those lips, but hearing Spike moan and talk? So much better. Xander pulls back and starts nibbling on the vampire’s neck, tracing faint scar tissue with the tip of his tongue. Spike inhales sharply and wantonly arches his creamy neck.

Xander grows bolder and runs one hand down Spike’s spine and underneath the waistband of Spike’s already invitingly open pants. Spike wriggles upwards, urging him on. Xander finds a nice ass, muscled but round in all the right places and his middle finger fits perfectly into the crease between those two mounds. “God, there— yes. Touch me. Please!” Spike’s hoarse voice sends bolts of pleasure to Xander’s cock.

So far, Spike is doing little more than just holding on and writhing, soaking up every caress. Now Xander captures one of Spike’s hands and places it on the hard bulge in his pants. It seems to be the authorization Spike needs, because he nimbly undoes the button and pulls down the zipper. A moment later strong fingers close around Xander’s engorged cock and pull it out.

A slight downward nudge is all it takes; Spike drops to his knees. Xander runs a hand through Spike’s hair, upsetting its gelled discipline, gripping a handful for better purchase. A moment later one of his favorite fantasies comes true: He can watch his cock slowly disappear between Spike’s soft moist lips: first the head, then the shaft, inch by fucking inch. Holy shit! Spike starts using his tongue and the muscles of his throat, sucking and squeezing Xander’s cock with frightening skill, while fondling his balls. “Yeah, blow me!” Xander groans, later adding “Slowly,” and “Yeah, just like that.”

It’s Xander who sets the pace. Two years with Anya have taught Xander an unusual amount of control. More than most twenty-two-year-olds can claim for themselves. He wants it slow, wants this to last. But in the end he drops his hand to Spike’s shoulder, allowing the vampire free reign. Spike speeds up, humming lightly as, a few minutes later, Xander comes in his mouth with a loud shout.

Spike swallows everything, licks him clean, and then looks up, raw need written all over his face. His cock is still hard, poking out of his opened pants - but he stays on his knees, hands motionless on his thighs.

Xander smiles, realizing that Spike will do nothing without his lead. The ball is completely in his court. What an opportunity for payback. Maybe he should just leave the bleached wonder with a severe case of blue balls? It’s tempting.

His thoughts must have been visible on his face, because Spike shrinks and drops his gaze.

Funny, how sometimes things fall into place. Eyes cast down, neck and emaciated back hunched in resignation, Spike reminds Xander of the proverbial kicked puppy, the kind that always comes back wagging its tail, even if you beat the crap out of it. The kind that will only stop crawling back to you once it’s irrefutably broken. The image sparks an epiphany and Xander suddenly has an inkling of the whole Spike-Buffy debacle. Strip away the vampire and the bad ass posturing and what remains is a lonely and deeply unhappy man.

“Spike?” Xander holds out his hand.

Spike blinks in surprise, smiling almost bashfully. He grips the offered hand and lets Xander pull him to his feet. When Xander kisses him he responds with the desperation of a drowning man.

As he tastes his come on Spike’s talented tongue, Xander feels a dark veil lifting from his heart. Maybe it’s true what they say, that a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved.

He slips both hands beneath the waistband of Spike’s pants, cupping the vampire’s nicely shaped ass and pulls him closer, trapping Spike’s erection and his own semi-card cock between their bodies. His balls are still tingling, sending random little shudders through him - aftershocks of a truly amazing blow-job.

“Want you,” Spike is murmuring, “so hot,” and “please.” Every fiber of his being seems to yearn for Xander’s touch. Yearn – not demand.

Xander’s cock is growing hard again. Even for him it’s an unusually speedy recovery – Spike is really getting to him. Xander is beginning to think that he could come just by listening to Spike plead.

Another time, though. Right now all Xander wants is to make the other man plead some more, to make him beg for it. Spike’s moaning at the friction between their cocks, slick moisture creating delicious sensations. Xander starts kneading Spike’s ass. He digs his fingers into hard lean flesh with startling possessiveness – almost hard enough to leave bruises. He pushes Spike’s jeans down some more, then spreads his cheeks with strong hands and runs his finger down the crack, stopping just short of the other man’s hole. Spike bucks violently, almost knocking them over.

“Do it,” Spike pants. “Right there.” Teasing touches make him groan. “Xander, for the love of god… please …fuck me!” Two words. Coming from Spike they send a sharp stab of arousal into Xander’s groin, unlike anything he’s ever felt before. And that’s saying a lot, because he’s never had cause to complain about wild monkey-sex with Anya. His dick is definitely leaking now.

“Where do you want my cock, Spike,” he teases. “Here?” He crooks his middle finger, brushing its tip over Spike’s puckered entrance, pushing but not breaching.

“Yes… God, yes,” is the hissed answer. “Want to feel— inside. Feel you inside.”

Xander pulls back. “Then we better lose these,” he says and steps out of his pants. Spike hurriedly pushes his own jeans down. Xander’s hands twitch, eager to touch.

“What else did you steal out of my box?” he asks.

Naked, Spike wordlessly crouches on the floor next to his bed and pulls a tattered cardboard box out from underneath it. He turns it upside down. A few magazines and a dildo … fall to the floor. And a little tube of lube.

Two steps and Xander is standing behind Spike. One gesture and Spike is on his knees, bending over. Arms spread wide he grips the bed for support, then rests his head on the mattress and raises his ass. Xander has a full view of Spike’s muscled back, the curve of his shoulders and his finely sculptured limbs. It’s one of the most erotic things Xander has ever seen. He kneels behind him, picks up the tube and carefully unscrews the cap. A tremble goes through Spike.

When Xander puts his left hand on Spike’s back, muscles ripple in anticipation. Without much ado Xander carefully pushes a slick finger into Spike’s waiting hole. A muffled sigh can be heard that sounds almost happy.

Bless Anya’s perfectionist little heart – she tackled sex like everything else in her life: with gusto, complete lack of inhibitions and great ambition. Which is why Xander has a very clear idea of what to do. By the time he’s done preparing him, Spike is moaning and twitching impatiently, writhing in need, pleading. But he never once tries to touch himself.

Xander’s own patience is becoming a bit frazzled round the edges now. Spike seems to think he’s ready, so maybe he is. Xander carefully lubricates his dick and positions himself. Sliding the slippery round tip of his cock up and down the crack between those deliciously pale cheeks elicits a whimper. He rests the head at Spike’s entrance.

“Is this what you want, Spike?” Xander asks huskily, rocking his hips slightly, nudging and teasing the sensitive opening with the thick swollen head of his cock. Sliding in just a fraction.

“God yes!” Spike pushes back. “Want you to— need you to fuck me.”

“Don’t move,” Xander orders him. Spike stills, panting.

Xander swallows and puts his hands on the strong shoulders before him, feeling them tremble underneath his caress. He drags his fingernails lightly down that milk-white back, heading for the slender waist, pauses to caress round buttocks and lean flanks. Then he grips Spike’s hips and inexorably pushes forward. The incredible tightness, Spike’s loud drawn out groan and the sight of his cock sliding all the way in – fuck! – it’s utterly amazing. God, he’s fucking Spike! Xander feels his balls contract in a sudden rush of lust. It takes all his self-control to not just let go and hammer away.

He starts a slow rhythm; deep, long thrusts. It doesn’t take long to find the right angle. Each time his cock brushes the prostate, Spike is tossing his head, moaning wantonly. “Yes,” he gasps, “fuck” and “so good” giving away to “been so long.” Xander vaguely notices that as Spike is nearing his climax the expletives become less frequent. “Take me,” “Make me feel” and  “hold me” – the raw desperation touches a nerve in Xander.

Remembering Anya during her occasional bouts of insecurity, Xander stops thrusting, ignoring Spike’s groan of frustration. He drops back on his haunches, pulling his partner backwards with him, until they are both kneeling. His cock remains deeply buried inside Spike’s ass throughout the position change. The vampire is in his lap, impaled, while his back rests against Xander’s chest. Xander possessively wraps his arms around the slender body, pinning Spike’s arms to his side, trapping him in a firm fireman’s grip that leaves just one hand free for other things.

He reaches for Spike’s erection. It’s the first time Xander ever touches another man’s dick, but the way they are joined it almost feels like an extension of his own. He wraps his hand about the cool shaft, marveling at its hardness. It’s slick with pre-cum. He gathers some of the moisture from the tip and starts to jerk Spike off, slow at first but then with mounting confidence and speed.

Spike arches against him, moaning, twitching in his grip, no longer coherent. Xander leans his cheek against Spike’s. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs soothingly. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

Spike comes with a keening wail, spurting come all over Xander’s fist. Xander is pretty sure some landed on the carpet and he couldn’t care less because Spike’s internal muscles are contracting around his cock and – fuck! Xander bucks a few times and then he too comes in an almost violent burst followed by about a dozen lesser spurts, emptying himself into the no longer cool body on his lap.

His body trembles with the effort of staying upright, but he has a boneless vampire on his lap who looks like he needs a moment longer to recover. Xander keeps his arms wrapped around the other man, then shifts a little, angling his arm so that Spike’s head rolls into the curve of Xander’s shoulder. He rubs Spike’s arm absently.

Two or three minutes later, Spike tenses slightly.

“Spike? You have to get off.” Xander tells him. There’s the sound of sharply drawn breath, but before Spike can say anything Xander explains.  “You’re too heavy, you’re cutting of my circulation.”

“Oh, right.” Spike says sheepishly and gets to his feet. He turns around and offers Xander his hand. Xander allows him to pull him to his feet and the two men look at each other in wonder.

“Holy crap!”

“I was gonna say ‘bloody hell’ but I reckon that covers it too.”

Xander looks at his hand, still covered in Spike’s come. He studies it with a frown and takes a tentative lick. The taste doesn’t impress him but it’s not gag-worthy either. He knows Spike is watching him.

Xander grins at Spike. “A man could get used to this.”





Pyrrha's Find

Spike can’t sleep. Strictly speaking, he doesn’t want to. He’s lying on his narrow cot, on his belly, his face turned sideways. He’s still naked. His hard-on is trapped between his body and the mattress. He doesn’t move. All he does is breathe in and out. In and out.

The closet has its own stale odor carrying the memories of Xander’s old basement: slightly moldy with just a hint of fabric softener. Maybe that’s because of the three big cardboard boxes that reside behind the pile of unused fitness gear. They contain comic books and model spaceships and other treasures never unpacked since Xander moved out of the basement of doom.

In and out.

On top of the familiar closet smell there’s a more vibrant scent: human, male, healthy, sweaty. A very down-to-earth scent that is seasoned with hints of soap, shampoo, and after shave – always the same brands for the past few years. Xander is conservative that way.

In and out.

It’s how a vampire commits places, people and events to memory. What Spike is really inhaling is the smell of sex. Unlike Xander, he didn’t take a shower afterwards. Spike can still smell both his and Xander’s come clinging to his flesh. He can still taste Xander’s come in his mouth. He remembers the other man’s cock sliding in and out and is filled with longing.

Tomorrow, Xander will tell him it was a mistake and that they should both try to forget what happened.

If that’s what he wants – fine. Spike has no intention of ever forcing himself on anyone again. Vampires aren’t fast learners, but that’s one lesson he’s finally mastered: Never to go where he’s not wanted.

But he can always go back to the memory.



***



Xander can’t sleep with so many things on his mind. He’s lying on his back on his bed that’s much too big for just one person, arms folded underneath his head like a pillow. He’s wearing boxers and a T-shirt, standard bachelor sleep wear. He’s totally relaxed. Every now and then a feather-light tremor of pleasure courses through him, as his body remembers what it’s done. Where it’s been. Every time this happens his semi-hard dick perks up slightly at the idea of an encore… then softens again in lazy post-orgasmic contentment.

The moment of panic and king sized embarrassment already lies behind him. He managed to get out of Spike’s closet without screwing things up, saving the whole ‘Holy crap, what was that?’ for when he was under the shower, washing his and Spike’s come off. Afterwards he made it past Spike’s open room with a nervous but non-committal ‘Gonna turn in’ and a slightly hurried ‘Night’ before shutting the bedroom door behind him.

The bedroom is quiet except for the sound of Xander’s own breathing. Outside, crickets are chirping. Occasionally a car drives past the condo, the only proof that Xander isn’t the only one still awake.

Xander listens.

Spike’s closet is on the other side of the wall. Xander wonders if Spike is asleep. He hasn’t come out, not to shower and not to leave. That’s weird because at this time of night the vamp is usually up and about, either roaming the streets for god knows what or holed up in his closet listening to The Stranglers or The Clash – the music just loud enough to seep through the plaster and the layers of drywall but too low to make out the words or individual tunes.

Xander listens.

‘Take me’ and ‘hold me’ – that’s what Spike said at the end. No longer arrogant, cocky or scary. Xander can almost hear him in his head. ‘Fuck me’ and ‘need you’ – the memory of the words and the unmasked desperation in Spike’s voice wash over him like an arid breeze and cause his breath to hitch and his dick to twitch.

Tomorrow everything will feel like a dream. Xander doesn’t know why, but he’s pretty sure that if he doesn’t bring up what happened, then Spike won’t either. Tomorrow, in the harsh light of day, everything will be just like before. They’ll avoid each other, swap a few half-hearted insults and stay on their separate paths.

Xander wonders if Spike breathes when he sleeps.



* * *



There’s a soft knock at the door.

“Yeah?”

The door opens and Xander’s silhouette appears before dull moonlight. “Spike? Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Wasn’t sleeping.” Spike says gruffly. He’s still lying on his stomach, legs slightly spread apart. The sheet only reaches to his thighs.

Xander swallows. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.” Spike reaches for the light switch of the cheap lamp and floods the room with brightness. The artificial light makes him look even more washed out than normal.

He turns around and sits up, pulling the sheet up to his waist and for that Xander is thankful. So much easier to talk without the distraction of full frontal Spike nudity.

“You’re here to tell me to forget it ever happened. And if I tell anyone you’ll stake me,” Spike says, sounding strangely worn out. He shrugs self-deprecatorily. “You can save yourself the trouble. Who’d I tell? No one ever talks to me anyway.”

“Is that what Buffy said? That she’d stake you?” Xander asks even though he swore to himself never to ask about any details regarding their relationship.

The brief flash of hurt in blue eyes answers his question, before Spike’s expression becomes more guarded. “Why are you still here? Right, I forgot. Probably want your stuff back.”  Spike bends over the edge of the bed and pulls out the infamous little cardboard box.

“Believe it or not, that’s not why I’m here,” Xander tells him. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, do you?”

“Well, yeah,” Spike tells him with a slightly muted smirk. He holds up his little finger, counting upwards: “Vampire.” Ring finger: “Tried to kill you lot.” Middle finger: “That thing with Anya.” Index finger: “Buffy. Four reasons why you hate my guts.” Spike drops his hand but then changes his mind and sticks out his thumb: “And you’re not gay. How’m I doing?”

Xander surprises Spike by sitting down on the edge of the cot. He holds up his hand, fingers spread out, holding Spike’s gaze. “Not gay? After what happened I’m not so sure. Let’s just go with ‘open-minded’ for now, okay?” There. He’s said it. That wasn’t so difficult, was it? He bends the thumb. The next reason is much more difficult to let go of. “Buffy? She didn’t stake you so I guess I’m not getting the whole picture here. Maybe I never will. Her call.” At that he bends the index finger. “Anya? As much as I hate to admit it, but I managed to sink that ship all on my own.” The middle finger. “The trying to kill us? Willow got a lot closer to killing us all than you ever did.” Xander bends the ring finger. There’s only one finger left, the little pinky. Xander wiggles it. “And that vampire thing?” He shrugs. “Nobody’s perfect.”

Spike watches the whole countdown looking completely dumbfounded, then his eyes narrow with suspicion. “You feelin’ alright? You been replaced by a pod person? Popped some happy pills?”

Xander pats his legs, arms and torso, the way he usually checks for injuries after a fight and grins. “Nope, as far as I can tell it’s the real me,” he replies. His heart is beating rapidly and he knows he’s flushing with nervousness and desire, yet he meets Spike’s scrutiny evenly.

Spike’s naked chest is rising and falling and his nostrils are flaring. He can smell the boy’s—man’s arousal. Doesn’t mean he has a buggerin’ clue what’s going on in Xander’s head or what’s going to happen next.

For a moment they are both silent, reaching for words, the right words. Insults are easy - a dime a dozen. But an actual conversation?

“Do you want to?” Xander finally asks. “I mean, forget about what happened?”

Spike doesn’t answer at once. Just stares at him, eyes hungry. Then he stubbornly raises his chin. “No I don’t.”

“Good,” Xander says and leans forward. His lips brush lightly over Spike’s. Then he pulls back and gets to his feet. “I gotta go to work tomorrow morning. So I better start catching some z’s now. But if you wanna join me – the bed’s big enough for two.”

A few minutes later they are both fast asleep.





Aurora's Light

Beep beep beep. Pause. Beep beep – slap. The alarm clock falls silent.

Like every morning, Xander sinks back into the warm softness of his pillow. 6 am. In ten minutes the clock will beep again and then he’ll have to fight the pull of gravity and get up. After that: shower, coffee, breakfast on his own, work. Like every morning.

Or not.

Something cool is touching his calves – something that feels suspiciously like a pair of cold feet. Feet usually come attached to legs and these are no exception. These legs are attached to a tight ass, which leads to just one conclusion: there’s an undead guy in Xander’s bed.

Xander listens. Nothing. Just his own slightly accelerated breathing and the suddenly loud pounding of his pulse. He slowly turns around to take a peek.

Enough dull grayish daylight is seeping into the bedroom for Spike’s pale skin and blond hair to stand out against the sky-blue covers. The way he’s lying, his feet are in Xander’s half of the bed, while the head lies in the diagonally opposite corner. The covers have slid down so Xander gets a good look at Spike’s arms, shoulders and his bare back. It’s light enough to make out a very faint criss-cross of thin scars. Spike is clutching the pillow, head turned sideways, facing Xander, eyes closed. He’s asleep – or faking it.

Xander takes a deep breath. This is it, the harsh light of day. Now would be the right moment to freak. Yeah, part of him wants to play three monkeys - eyes, ears and mouth closed up tight - and plead temporary insanity for last night’s—whatever. But the greater part of him is relieved that Spike’s presence makes chickening out pretty much impossible. Plus, Xander feels well rested and mellow, more relaxed than in a long time, so instead he props up his head on his elbow and studies the other man’s face.

It’s easy to understand what the women see in him. It’s a pretty face, a little gaunt and sad of late; pain and woe normally lurking just beneath the skin, but occasionally they show through, like now. As Xander stares, Spike tightens his grip around the pillow, misery distorting his features. Spike draws in a shuddering breath and holds it for an inhumanly long time before his face softens again and he exhales with an almost inaudible sigh.

There’s a strange intimacy in watching another person sleep

Beep bee—

Xander spins around and quickly kills the alarm. But this time, when he turns back, blue eyes are looking at him. A half smile appears for an instant before it is locked up behind a blank mask.

“Waffles or fruit loops?” is the first thing that pops into Xander’s mind and out of his mouth. “Um, for breakfast, I mean.”

Spike blinks slowly. “Breakfast?" he asks, voice low and rough. There’s a note of skepticism in the way his voice drops at the second syllable.

“Yeah, it’s what you eat in the mornings.” At the last minute Xander swallows the automatic ‘nimrod’ that wants to latch itself on to that sentence.

Spike opens his mouth, but then shuts it with an audible snap. He sits up and nervously smoothes back his hair with his fingers.

“What?” Xander asks, unnerved by the uncharacteristic lack of smirking and wise-ass snarking.

“Not so good with the pillow talk,” Spike admits hesitantly. His gaze drops to the rumpled bedspread and he absently scratches the scar on his brow with his thumb. “Usually, s’when I open my stupid gob that things turn sour. Don’t—don’t want that.”

“Ah. I don’t think that the imponderable question of ‘waffles’ or ‘fruit loops’ is going to put a strain on our—thing.”

Spike looks up. That same small smile flickers for a brief instant. “Waffles, then.”

Xander crawls past him and slips out of bed.

Spike nods as the morning hard-on tenting Xander’s boxers becomes visible. “How about I take care of that first?” he asks suggestively - but his voice is strained and his nonchalance forced.

Xander swallows. His dick hardens some more at the suggestion and his breathing quickens. “Um, I… uh… It’s tempting,” he admits, “but this carpenter really has to take a shower, and…um… get ready for work. My boss is running out of tolerance fast.”

“Your loss,” Spike says, sounding indifferent, but looking quite forlorn. He doesn’t move.

Did he just turn down a blow-job? From Spike? Xander feels like a complete moron. Like he just turned down a lottery jackpot of a million dollar. It seems his feet are smarter than his mouth, though, because they refuse to budge. They seem rooted to the floor the way Xander’s eyes are glued to the pale sensuous creature that has turned his sexuality upside down.

Xander remembers Spike’s lack of initiative last night, his unexpected obedience, and the way that hard, lethal body became pliant for him. He remembers thrusting powerfully into Spike’s mouth and ass. The flare of heat the too-vivid flashback produces is almost too much to bear.

Before he knows it, he’s resting one knee on the edge of the bed and leaning forward.

“On the other hand—” he mumbles with a rare reckless smile, “—who needs breakfast?”

Spike meets him half way with a hunger so raw it can’t be faked, dispelling Xander’s fleeting, gut-churning worry that maybe Spike was merely trying to earn his keep. Xander encounters a hard mouth that wants to be crushed and conquered and thrusts his tongue inside. Spike puts up a struggle, but the tilt of his head is the first sign of surrender. Xander pushes forward, invading Spike’s mouth with his tongue and Spike yields, toppling backwards with a triumphant glint in his eyes. Xander follows, covering the other man with his larger frame and trapping both their hard-ons between their bodies.

There are suddenly too many elbows and knees and not nearly enough hands as they grope and fumble for more skin. In their eagerness to push the bed covers out of the way and get rid of Xander’s T-shirt and gaudy boxers, the two men almost tumble off the bed.

“This is crazy,” Xander mumbles as he pulls back to catch his breath, but then he swoops down again to plunder Spike’s mouth some more. Kissing is so much easier than questioning.

Spike’s only answer is an almost-whimper and a thrust of his hips.

It’s weird feeling an erect dick pressed against his own engorged flesh; weirder to feel it rubbing against it. But oh, with Spike writhing wantonly underneath him, Xander could get used to ‘weird.’ The offer of a blow-job is forgotten as he rocks his hips, creating more delicious friction. Their cocks are slick with pre-cum, sandwiched between coolness and heat, sliding against each other with the chafing sound of skin-on-skin, and they’re hard - fuck! - so hard.

Xander captures Spike’s wrists and roughly pins them down on both sides of Spike’s head. Spike moans and bucks and arches his neck, almost pushing Xander over the edge.

Too soon!

“Be still,” Xander rasps out. Instantly the body underneath him freezes. There’s just the rapid rising and falling of Spike’s chest as he pants and a slight tremble that indicates just how much effort it takes to obey.

Xander gives Spike’s wrists a determined shove, making it clear that they are supposed to stay where they are, then he slowly trails his hands downwards. Spike’s panting becomes harsher, more irregular, as Xander’s fingertips brush softly across his chest.

Xander crawls backwards, then bends down and flicks his tongue over a hardened pink nipple, causing Spike to tense, almost twitch. Xander licks and nibbles, teasing the sensitive nub, unpredictably alternating between rough and gentle.

Spike’s abs are next, Xander traces their contours with the tip of his tongue, occasionally dipping into the navel. Once or twice his cheek brushes against Spike’s straining cock. Each time, Spike utters a strangled whimper but otherwise his control holds.

From close-up Spike’s dick looks huge and daunting. Xander stares at the hardened flesh and the fresh drop of pre-cum that glistens at the swollen tip, then takes a deep breath before resolutely wrapping his fingers around it and giving the head a tentative lick.

Spike inhales sharply. He twitches underneath Xander’s restraining weight. Okay, this started off with the idea of Xander getting a blow-job, so how come he’s now giving one? Somewhere along the line the Spike-gives-head-to-Xander scenario must have taken a sharp U-turn. But who says that’s a bad thing? Xander gives the shaft a long and lavish lick and hears Spike’s breath hitch again. This is fun. With a bit of practice Spike should be begging in no time.

Apropos begging, why isn’t Spike saying anything? Last night he talked dirty like a waterfall. Xander lifts his head to look at the prone vampire. Spike’s face is a mask of concentration and he’s biting his lip. Then the penny drops and Xander feels like a dork. He grins sheepishly. “Spike… you can talk now, um… just don’t move.”

Spike exhales forcefully. “Look, you don’t have to.…”

Xander’s grin becomes mischievous and he begins to slowly move his hand up and down, teasingly stroking Spike’s cock and causing him to shudder. His eyes never leave Spike’s face. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“What I want?” With Xander’s hot hand slowly jerking him off Spike finds it difficult to focus. He searches Xander’s face. “Suck me?  Please?”  The hitch in Spike's voice makes Xander realize that there is more going on than a guy wanting to get blown. Come on, Spike must have had a gazillion blow-jobs over the past one hundred years or so. What’s so special about getting one from a twenty-two year old human construction worker?

"I've never done this before," Xander cautions after another lick.  "But I think it goes something like. . ."  He slides the head into his mouth, sealing his lips and sucking hard as he can.

“Fuck! Oh yeah, like that,” Spike gasps, his body jerking before it is forced still. “Oh god.”

Xander likes the sound of that. He continues to suck and work Spike’s dick with his mouth and tongue, partly remembering what he himself likes and partly taking his cues from Spike’s moans and expletives: “Oh fuck— do that again, please… yeah, god yes, Xander, suck me….”

His own neglected cock stays hard throughout.

When his jaw and tongue grow tired, Xander slithers upwards again to claim Spike’s mouth for a searing kiss that tastes of his pre-cum. Spike whimpers into his mouth. “Please. Let me—”

Xander covers him like before and aligns his cock so it comes to lie next to Spike’s. He starts to thrust, rubbing their slick cocks against each other. He reaches upwards and gives Spike’s wrists a nudge, freeing them from their non-existent restraints, thereby allowing Spike to move again. A moment later Spike’s hands are gripping his ass, urging him to grind harder into the tight channel between their bodies. “Spike, oh yes!” Xander can feel his balls contracting and his thrusts become more and more frantic. This is fucking hot.

“God… yes… please!” Suddenly Spike bucks hard enough to nearly throw Xander off, wetness pooling between them. Xander continues to pump away against Spike’s hard stomach and after a dozen or so thrusts he shouts and comes as well.

Outside, the grayness of dawn has turned into brightness. The bedroom is bathed in warm but indirect yellow light.

They lie on their backs, shoulder to shoulder, panting and waiting for their breathing – and in Xander’s case his heartbeat – to return to normal. The usual sounds of morning drift through the open window, birds twittering and people driving to work. Xander turns his head to look at the slightly rumpled vampire next to him - Spike returns his gaze. Neither Xander nor Spike says it out loud, but they both know that this is no longer a one-night stand.

AN: Aurora is the Roman name of the Greek Goddess of Dawn.





Philia's Touch

It soon dawns on Xander that Spike will never say 'no.' Xander can walk into the apartment, toss his keys on the counter, bend Spike over the back-rest of the sofa or spread-eagle him against the front door, yank down his pants and take him without saying a single word – he'll find Spike willing and slicked and just as silent. If Xander says "kneel," Spike will comply; if Xander says "suck me," Spike will open his mouth and a century's worth of skill and experience will bend to Xander's every whim.

It's exhilarating, a roller-coaster ride of power and lust. The knowledge that Spike hungers for him is like a never-ending plunge, mixing vertigo with drunken bliss and just a tiny twinge of panic. Sometimes, during work, Xander has to lock himself into the men's restroom to jerk off, because his mind and body can't stop wanting Spike.

In the evenings, when he pulls into the condo's parking lot, hands restlessly drumming on the steering wheel, Xander already feels himself hardening. By the time he urgently pushes his key into the lock all he can think about is pushing into Spike. It's stupid, it's hot and it's probably wrong, but that first long thrust when he buries himself balls-deep in Spike's ass, that wordless moment when urgency turns into blissful amazement, beats everything that's ever happened to Xander before.

Tonight they're in the kitchen, where Xander caught Spike making tea. The boiling kettle is vibrating noisily, but at least it's no longer whistling since Spike managed to yank off the lid at the last minute. Spike's hands are gripping the edge of the sink, his pants pushed down to his bare ankles. Xander on the other hand hasn't even managed to take his jacket or shoes off.

"I needed that," Xander groans, once the first breathlessness has passed. His hands are resting lightly on Spike's hips. He pulls out a bit, then slides back in, eliciting a grunt of pleasure from Spike. He sets up an easy rhythm, hard but not too fast.

"Work was brutal, today."

They never stay silent for long. Not just because they groan and grunt and talk dirty, although there's some of that as well, but because a few days ago they found themselves talking - about Xander's day, about Spike's. Nothing profound, just every day stuff, and now they drag the act out for as long as they can, while Xander lazily thrusts into the hard male body beneath him. Inevitably, their breath hitches and their voices become strained. Sentences break off mid-way, suddenly meaningless, and words of three or more syllables turn into tongue-twisters. In the end everything boils down to Spike gasping simple things like "hold me" and "please" and Xander silently bringing them both to completion. They never talk much afterwards, because that's what friends do—and they're not. Sometimes, though, they watch television together and Spike no longer sleeps in the closet.

But right now they're still talking...

"Brutal, huh? That stupid architect give you trouble again?"

"Yup. In today's installment of the never-ending aggravation, Mr. I-have-a-degree-from-college-and-you-don't told us to scrap three days of work because we lesser beings are quote obviously unable to even hold blueprints up the right way, unquote." Without losing his rhythm, Xander pushes Spike's button down shirt upwards until it hangs round his shoulders like a scarf, then bends down to lick the bare spine before him. One arm snakes round Spike's waist to grip him tight. "How was your day?"

"Not so brutal. I—oh God, do that again!" Spike inhales and tries to push backward and forward. Xander grins and slows down until the steady pumping of his hand and hips turn into a languid rocking. Spike shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "Read a book," he confesses, unable to concentrate enough to come up with a decent lie.

Startled, Xander stops moving altogether. Swallows the mocking 'you read, Spike?'

Tensing, Spike straightens slightly. Swallows an insolent 'you should try it too.'

"What did you read?" Xander asks neutrally as he starts moving again, sliding in and out at a languid pace, determined to make this last.

"The Wasteland," Spike finally answers.

"Is that one of my graphic novels?" Xander asks with a frown, as the title triggers images of Mad Max and post-nuclear deserts. "Alan Moore, right?"

"Not quite," Spike hedges, but after a pause he adds. "S'poetry."

That's just too much. "What? Rhymes and cryptic word Smorgasbord? 'Thus quoth the raven?' You're kidding," Xander chortles.

"Better than Batman and that Electra chit romping through Metropolis," Spike snaps, suddenly angry. Here he is, a vampire, for God's sake, braced against an IKEA sink, pants down and is being fucked by a half-wit American geek who doesn't know his arse from his elbow when it comes to English literature. There comes a point when irony cuts like a knife.

"Daredevil," Xander corrects him. "Batman is DC, Daredevil and Electra are Marvel. And if you're talking Batman it's Gotham City not Metrop--"

"Who the fuck cares?" Spike cuts him off with more than a hint of venom.

Gloomy silence. The only audible sound is the clamor of the rumbling kettle. Then Xander swallows and voices what both are thinking: "We're arguing."

"So what? We do that all the time." Spike retorts, suddenly sober and very wary.

"No we don't." It's true. In front of the others they always bicker, growl and yap, snapping at each other like dogs - albeit of the same pack. Never here, though, when they're alone. Never when they're rutting, frotting or sucking each other off. Always too worried a false word might shoot this weird-hot truce straight to hell.

"Yeah, we do. That's the baseline," Spike mutters sullenly. Xander secretly calls this the Spike-is-so-full-of-bullshit voice.

"You're saying this is just a freak ten day high, and now that we've come down we go back to the old 'I hate your guts and you hate mine' tune?"

Christ, do they really have to go through this in mid-fuck? "Something like that. Had to happen sooner or later, right?"

"No." Xander shakes his head, surprised at his own vehemence. The sudden movement spills down his body to where they are joined, causing enough friction to cause both men to shudder. Xander's grip on Spike's hips tightens. With the relationship pile-ups in their wake the chances of this thing coming up roses are marginal, so maybe Spike is right and they're destined to go kablooey sooner rather than later. Whatever. Right now Xander knows only one thing for certain: he can argue with Spike till the cows come home, that doesn't change the fact that he's exactly where he wants to be.

"No?"

"I hate reruns."

Some of the tension in Spike dissipates. "Except for the good stuff."

"Yup. Some things..." Xander slowly pulls Spike's ass towards him again, burying himself deeply inside the vampire. Again that breathless amazement. He runs his callused hands over the smooth ripples of Spike's ribs and abs, groping and teasing. "Some things you just can't get enough of."

Spike sighs. "Yeah? Like what?"

A long lick. "Vanilla ice cream."

A snort. "Passions."

Dramatic pause, except for their panting and the slapping sounds of two rutting bodies. "Star Trek."

"You've... got to be.. kidding."

"Nope. You better... believe it." The tremors of Xander's chuckle leave them both breathless. And then they have other things to concentrate on.

"God, this is good," Spike hisses at one time, when Xander's fist speeds up its rhythm on his cock. "Oh fuck!"

"Hunhhhh." Is all Xander manages to get out.

An hour later they're soaking in hot water, crammed into a bathtub that's way too small for two grown men, bickering and arguing, but both looking very much like the cat that's gotten the canary.

AN: Philia was the Greek personification of friendship




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