Pairing: Xander/Anya, Spike
Prompt: tamingthemuse - 138 - Filch
Warnings: The sexual meaning of filch should carry a warning in and of itself.
Word Count: 615
Summary: Anya knows what she wants. Spike wants what he knows. And Xander probably wasn’t the best idea at a go-between.
Xander slumped onto the stairs, two down from Spike’s sprawl, and sighed dramatically enough to raise and lower his shoulders yet not loud enough to draw any attention from the group trying to decipher Buffy’s latest demon sighting. Spike could have told them a Borhee Beast wasn’t aggressive outside of breeding season – once every century – but he’d been short on blood for nearly a week now. Hunger tended to leave him too weak to defend his shortened temper.
Xander pulled back his shoulders, apparently bracing himself for some perceived confrontation, and Spike let his eyes languidly drift up the boy’s back. Harris’ demon girl touted their sexual exploits enough to make Spike take a second look, and he’d been looking ever since. Dark of hair and eye, a type of strength that needed protection, Xander Harris could easily be Spike’s type. If Spike limited himself to a type. If Spike was looking. Which he wasn’t. Except sometimes, he was.
“You ever been filched?” Harris rasped out, blood pouring out to the skin of his neck, up to his ears and cheeks. Spike had thought that most of the blush had been knocked out of Harris by his overly blunt girl – not that this should have brought about embarrassment – but it was a sight to appreciate, any road.
“Sure,” Spike said. He wagged a fag between his fingers, remembering the days when Angelus would snitch him out of Dru’s bed only to have Dru quietly reacquire his malleable, sated body hours later. Hadn’t lasted long, the wanting, the being wanted, but it had been good. Blood and sex and family. Perhaps even trust. Truth be told, he missed the security of trust most often. Harris’ blush darkened, and Spike could feel the heat from the solid body creeping up his legs.
“I, uh,” Xander licked his lips. “Well, that is.” There was a long pause, and Spike wished that he dared push the Watcher by lighting up a puff, but his fingers contented themselves with dancing the dead fag up and around and over and down while Harris took a deep breath and calmed himself. Spike couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen the boy this worked up. Maybe in anger. But this wasn’t anger. He slouched further against the stair riser and nudged Harris with the toe of his boot.
“Got somethin’ to ask?” And no, Spike was not bored. It was the lack of blood. Made his head all woozy.
“Anya wanted to invite you to filch with us,” Xander sputtered out, voice still raspy, eyes darting to the still bickering group before wandering over everything in the store but Spike.
“Does she now?” Spike asked. A nice bit of petty larceny might be just up his alley, if the demon girl wanted to try her hand. No wonder Harris had been all flustered. “Naughty, that.”
“Not that you’d turn down such an offer, ‘cause yeah, vamp, but she thought I’d better ask just so you know there wouldn’t be, you know, stakes in hand if you just showed up for a night of,” Xander coughed and stood. He turned toward Spike for the first time, eyes firmly settled somewhere above Spike’s head. “So, yeah, I’ll just go tell her we’re on, for sometime this week?” Spike shrugged. Xander nodded and ducked back to the table, sliding into his chair and hiding his blood flushed face behind a large tome. Too bad the Watcher was too busy to notice it was upside down.
The scent of excited blood, musky with male arousal, lingered around Spike for a few moments. Who would have thought that Little Miss Slayer’s White Knight would be turned on by filchin’?
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