Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Adult
Summary: um, there’s a couple of horny guys, a situation, not so much with the plot or anything

A/N- So, my baby [info]jasonsnene gave me a prompt, which I kind of mutated. See, i was trying to come up with what she wanted, but my mind went, ‘blah, blah blah, ooh, Spike likes Xander’s arse, let’s start typing and see what happens.’ This is what happened. 4200wds of Spander fluff.



On The Job


by
Kimalis


Spike sags in the chair and lifts the book higher. Perhaps this way, all these idiots will think he’s actually reading and leave him the hell alone to get on with more important things. Things like perving. If he lifts the book a little more, he’ll be able to see just fine. There. Oh yeah.

Harris is repairing some bits of wooden stuff on the counter. It had been funny yesterday, watching everyone duck when Red’s spell went haywire, and the clean up now is just as fun but in a different way. For some reason it seems that Harris has to bend himself over the counter to put the clamps in place, rather than walk around behind it. There’s some mumbled explanation about getting better results this way. Spike doesn’t know what results the boy is aiming for, but the ones he’s getting have nothing to do with carpentry-type wood.

Spike is hard. Achingly hard. His tight jeans don’t help the situation any, in fact, they make it almost unbearably better. He keeps both hands firmly on the book. Won’t do to be caught having a bit of a wank in the middle of the Magic Box. Won’t bother him but the slayer is a tad stake happy when she’s pissed off, that’s why Spike had grabbed the book, to keep his hands busy.

“Damn!” Harris straightens up and glances over his shoulder, his eyes rest on Spike for just a moment. “My hands are so sweaty, I can’t get a good grip.”

And now, the bastard reaches around and slowly wipes his hands over his arse. Like he can’t do it on his shirt, or a tissue. No. Harris, with the slightest of smirks, rubs his hands back and forth, very deliberately, over his arse. The very same arse that is encased in an old pair of jeans, maybe a little too small, now that the boy has a bit more padding on him. He shouldn’t be allowed to wear those jeans in public, and if Spike ever has any say in the matter, he’ll only wear them in private. Yeah. Just those jeans, no shoes, no shirt, his hair a bit damp and sticking to the back of his neck, maybe a trickle of sweat down his chest. Fuck it. Spike glances down at the front of his own jeans. How can this thing get harder? Once they actually get down to business, Spike is going to give it to that boy, good and proper.

Realising that they actually like each other was a bit of a surprise. But, a few days ago, realising that they actually like like each other, well that was a soddin’ bombshell. Spike knows it’s been a good couple of months that they’ve considered themselves friends, mate, buddies, and it’s been fun. But just recently, that took a turn and now he wants more, he wants the dirty naked fun. They haven’t acknowledged the change between them yet, not openly anyway. Oh, there’s been plenty of innuendo, loaded looks, ‘accidental’ touching, but Spike hasn’t actually come right out and said it. Neither has the boy.

Spike knows he can’t get up right now. He’s known that every bloody day, lately. Harris knows it too, and does his damnedest to make it worse. Sometimes, though, Spike can just sit and stare at the boy and Harris’ll flush, and fidget, and pretend that he’s not adjusting his jeans. Then Spike will laugh because after all, he is evil, and evil guys are into revenge.

Not tonight though. Tonight the bugger will not turn around. He will not make eye contact and he is doing it deliberately. He knows Spike can’t get up, not without causing a scene. Generally Spike is more than happy to cause a scene, but not a penis-related one in front of the Niblet. That’s the kind of scene that has the potential to leave him wafting out on the breeze.

So, he is stuck here. Especially now, because, fucking hell, Harris has one leg up on the edge of the counter, just like he’s at a pool table. Oh, and hasn’t that game taken on a new meaning lately. Sly comments about balls, hands slipping over pool cues, long stretches across the felt. Fucking foreplay is what it is.

There’re grunts and puffing from the other side of the counter now, and Harris’s arse is wriggling against the edge of the counter like he’s trying to buff it with his dick. But now he stops the twisting and writhing about, and drops himself back to the floor.

“Phew, didn’t think it would be so hard, or so hot.” Harris pulls the hem of his T-shirt up and wipes his forehead and neck with it. In the process, he exposes a generous expanse of soft, hairy belly and a long curve of ropey neck muscles. Cheeky fucker. No bloody respect for a horny vampire’s situation.

“Here, Xan, wanna drink?” Dawn cheerfully hands him an open soda, and Harris grins, tips back his head and slams it down. Spike wonders if the boy let that dribble run down his chin on purpose. Probably did, the little shit.

Spike tries not to make it too obvious that he can’t take his eyes off the Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with each swallow. And it’s not that Spike finds soda especially erotic, but he’s imagining that’s not coke Harris is swallowing down and licking off his lips. Spike grips the book tighter, trying to resist the urge to leap over there and lick up the trickle of soda that is running down the boy's neck.

“Thanks, Dawnie, I think that hit the spot.” And still Harris isn’t meeting his eyes. Bastard is teasing the fuck out of him this time. Spike grins. Good job, whelp.

Spike wonders how long this can go on. He is aching and uncomfortable; he’s been in a near-constant state of arousal for days. Spike doesn’t count the few minutes of relief after a bit of gentlemen’s time, and laughs to himself as he recalls the fantasies he’s been building up. He’s no gentleman.

Harris is leaning back against the counter, his thumbs hooked in his waistband, his fingers pointing to, and framing, his crotch. Spike notes that the old jeans are tight all over and wonders how the boy could be distracting himself so that those jeans aren’t giving away all his secrets, like Spike’s are.

With his peripheral vision, cause he’s staring at Harris’s crotch, Spike can tell that Harris is watching him now and knows exactly where Spike’s attention is. But when Spike looks up, trying to catch his eye, Harris immediately looks away and there’s that smirk that Spike would be proud to call his own.

While Spike is pondering the best way to get Harris out of here and naked, or at the very least, just out of earshot and eyeline, the shop door is flung open and Red runs in, looking like she’s about to vomit on the spot.

“Stinky, smelly, stupid, slow. Outside.” She’s breathing so hard she reminds Spike of one of those late night commercials, where Tiffany is waiting for his call. And his credit card.

“These our new nicknames, Will?” Harris asks. “Cause, I have to say, not liking them so much.”

“No! Okay, maybe one of them. But no. Demon, outside. Did I mention smelly? It needs killing. A lot. And maybe some deodorant. But mainly we should get with the killing.”

Spike rolls his eyes and wonders how the hell these people function amongst the general public, or even understand each other. For him, it’s an exercise in patience. Spike snorts. No it’s not, really. Most times he just ignores them. As if he’d go to all the effort of patience, just for these silly bints.

Now the boy. That’s a different story. If it weren’t for patience, Spike would have jumped him hours ago instead of letting him wave that arse about. Probably would have grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragged him down to the basement and thrown him over something sturdy. Or not. No skin off Spike’s nose if they ended up on the floor.

While Spike is contemplating all the places in the Magic Box he would like to throw Harris down, he realises that the witch is still prattling on and the others seem to be interested. Even Harris, who stops lounging about like a porn star waiting for his close up. Shame.

“Where was it headed?” The slayer asks.

“Very slowly elsewhere.” The witch points in the general direction of the front door. “You won’t have any trouble finding it. It’s really slow and really fragrant.”

“Why do we need to kill it, Will?” Harris asks. “Slow, stupid, smelly, that could describe any number of vam- ah, people. What did it do?”

At the soft jibe, Spike finally catches Harris’s eye and flips him the fingers with a twitch of his eyebrow and a glimpse of his tongue that says a lot more than just fuck off. Harris smiles, lets his eyes wander slowly down the front of Spike’s body, licks his lips and looks away again. Oh, there’s going to be some fun later.

Red’s still going on. “Oh. Did I mention the corpse? It was carrying a corpse. The dead kind.”

“So it’s been killing?” Buffy asks.

“Nope. Digging. And grave robbing. I don’t think that’s why it smelled though. I mean yeah, it kinda smelled corpsey, you know, ewwy, like a dead thing.” Red’s eyes widen and she looks nervously at Spike. “Oh. Not that all dead things smell corpsey cause, um, some dead things don’t smell at all, or, um, they smell all fresh and, oh- not that I’ve been going around smelling-.”

“Will!” Xander says. “We get it. It smells bad and accessorises from the Aberzombie and Witch catalogue.”

“Hey!” Red looks offended.

“Oh, not you, you smell okay for a girl. Not offense intended there.”

“Plenty taken,” she mumbles.

“Well, as Buffy is yet to complete tonight’s meditation training, perhaps someone else can take care of this, it seems simple enough.” The watcher is scanning the room looking for volunteers. “A Budsgeeg demon if I’m not mistaken.”

Something clicks in Spike’s head and the words come out before commonsense can stop him. “Budsgeeg? Water right? It dissolves in water.”

The watcher nods. “Yes, Spike. And as we are experiencing a particularly long dry spell, I expect that is why it has come out. Seeing as you know so much, you can take care of it. If you need help, you can take Xander.” The watcher smiles at them both and immediately heads out to the training room with the slayer.

“What the hell, Watcher?” Spike throws him a pissed off look. “I’m doing the slayer’s bloody job now, while she learns how to take a nap? Bugger that.” Then he stops and thinks about the watcher’s words. Take Xander. Fuck yeah, let me count the ways.  “Right, maybe I was a bit hasty. After all, an unfocussed slayer is an ineffective slayer, and we all know how much I want your little blonde killing machine to be in top form.” Spike marvels at how he says that with a straight face. “Oi, Harris. Grab your weapon, we’re going on a Budsgeeg hunt.”

Spike knows its safe to get up, the residual smell oozing off the witch has put an end to any libidinous reactions for now. He strides for the door, knowing that Harris has snatched up a short sword and is only a step or two behind him. Spike smirks to himself and puts a bit of a swing in his hips as he picks up speed.

Outside, Spike smells the demon instantly and leads Harris off in the direction of the scent. Spike knows that particular demon won’t attack, so Harris won’t need the sword he’s carrying, but damn if he didn’t just love seeing a weapon in the boy’s hand. The way his fingers curled around the hilt. Nice. Hopefully tonight though, Spike could get rid of that sword, and have Harris holding onto something much more fun, but equally as impressive.

“Where are we going, Spike? And why are we going there so fast?” Harris asks, still behind and trotting to keep up. Spike likes the sound of Harris getting a little short of breath. Fuels the fantasies.

“We’re following the bad guy; we’re killing the bad guy.” Spike decides enough is enough. The sound and smell of Harris is playing havoc with his senses and his soddin’ jeans are too tight again. There will be no more teasing, no more pretending. “Then I’m going to fuck you.”

“How are we gonna kill-. Huh? You’re gonna what?”

“Fuck you. Tonight. The minute we kill that thing.”

“Oh.” Spike wishes he’d known sooner how easy it is to shut the boy up. And suddenly, cause the demon is so slow, and Spike knows he’ll be able to track it’s smell no matter how far ahead it gets, he stops dead in his tracks, and Harris slams into his back.

Before the boy has time to realise what the hell just happened, Spike spins. He grabs Harris with one hand by the waist of his pants, the other winds in the long floppy hair and Spike pulls him into a hard kiss. Just as he feels the boy respond, Spike pulls away with a satisfied smirk. That was worth the wait.  “So you want to hurry up? I’m horny as all fuck and sick of waiting.”

“Um, sure okay.”

And closer than the sulphur smell of the demon, Spike catches the much more erotic smell of pheromones. He licks the taste of the boy off his lips and walks that little bit faster.

A few more blocks and they catch sight of the demon, and the demon catches sight of them. Not that it’s especially fast, but it drops the corpse it’s carrying, puts on a burst of speed and disappears into the shadows of a park.

“Perfect. Come on,” Spike says and grabs Harris by the arm, pulling him along in a jog. There’s more pheromones then, more puffing, some sweat too, and Spike moans as his jeans chafe deliciously.

So, minutes later, here they are, in the middle of Sunnydale, in a park lit only by the moonlight and the odd lamp post, chasing down some soddin’ disgusting Budsgeeg, that stinks like an old egg sandwich, and Spike swears is being propelled by the constant stream of high pitched farts it emits as it waddles along.

Harris is laughing now, tears almost rolling down his face, because he finally catches the noise and dubs the demon ‘Butt Squeak’. Spike cracks a smile too, because in the face of the sounds and the smells and the panicked waddle of the demon, one can do little else.

“Spike, it’s getting away, come on,” Harris shouts, and a fresh burst of giggles erupts from him.

Spike snorts, cause that’s more dignified than a fit of giggles. “Harris, you could lie down on the ground and pull yourself along by your front teeth and that thing still couldn’t get away.”

“Why are you letting it get so far ahead of us?”

“Can you fucking smell that bastard? You want to get closer?”

“No, I just want to go kill Butt Squeak, then, um, you know.”

And now the boy is all shy and coy. All that teasing from him must have taken some guts, cause now its out in the open, he’s blushing and Spike can’t help himself.

“No, I don’t know. Fill me in Harris. What do you want?” Spike does that walk that he just knows looks good, even though he’s never seen it himself, he sees its effect in the faces of any number of people. He likes the way it reflects in Harris, he loves the way it reflects in Harris’s jeans.

He stops just inches from the boy and does that eyebrow arch-smirk-tongue curl thing that has the same result as his walk. “Tell me, Harris.”

Harris’s mouth flaps around trying to make words, but all that comes out are some sounds that Spike decides he likes quite a lot. Then he’s surprised. And that doesn’t happen often, but in a series of lightning fast movements, Harris has a hand on the back of his head, a hand on the significant bulge in the front of Spike’s jeans, and a tongue halfway to his tonsils.

Spike’s all about the senses and this is overload. The boy has his own unique smell, taste, feel and Spike ignores the fact that there is a fragrant fart monster that needs killing and lets the boy have his way. But Harris has been paying attention. As soon as Spike relaxes into it, he backs off.

“Okay, just so as we’re clear,” Harris says, panting and holding up a hand while he counts off on his fingers. “What I want exactly, is four things. To find Butt Squeak, to kill Butt Squeak, to go somewhere that will not result in public displays of my ass, and fuck till one or both of us can’t walk.”

Spike wonders how his jeans are holding up under the strain. “Don’t ever let those friends of yours tell you that you are no good at plans.”

“Kill stinky Butt Squeak now?”

God, yes. A near perfect night. Kill the monster, bed the man-damsel. Simple. Long over-due. “It’s going exactly where we want it to, we just need to catch up now.”

Xander nods and wriggles his hips around. Spike recognises that movement. It’s the ‘hey didn’t these jeans fit me a few minutes ago?’ dance. “Right, good. Plan is underway. But where exactly do we want it? I kinda don’t want it anywhere you know? It stinks. How about we just run it out of town? Then we don’t have to get close enough to touch it or anything.”

Spike waves his hand and they head further into the park. “Just keep herding it this way.”

“Not like we have to do much herding you know. It’s sticking to the paths. Did you hear it squeal when its feet touched the grass?” And Harris is off again, giggling.

Spike sighs. “That wasn’t a bloody squeal Harris. I’ve heard squeals; I’ve been up close and personal with squeals. I’ve induced squeals that are not soon forgotten.”

“Ew. Can we not discuss your torture techniques?”

Spike leered. “Not talking about torture, pet.”

“Right. You’re very subtle, you know.”

“Not one of my strong points. Now, making innocent young things squeal, on the other hand-.”

“I am not a squealer. I may groan, and there may be many other sounds, but I do not, have not, and will never, squeal. Not even for you.”

Spike stops again and presses himself against Harris’s front, his lips just a hair’s breadth away from the boy’s. “Will you gasp for me?” He swivels his hips. “Will you grunt?” He licks along the soft lips in front of his. “Will you scream for me?”

Harris tilts his head and pushes his hips forward, so they are pressed hard against each other. With one move, he surprises Spike again. “Will you scream for me?” He quickly leans down and bites Spike’s neck.

“Oh fuck. Fuck” Spike pumps his hips and grabs Harris by the back of his head, holding him there. Harris’s teeth scrape hard against Spike’s skin, ending in a sharp nip and Spike thinks he might come there and then like a spotty teenager. But Harris is gone again before Spike gets off and he takes a moment to clear his head before they follow the fart monster again.

The Budsgeeg is nearing the centre of the park and Spike waves Harris away to his left. Together they fence the demon in and force it to waddle backwards as it keeps an eye on both of them.

“Perfect position, Harris. When I say go, we charge okay?”

They take a few more steps, the demon inches its way back, and, too concerned with its stalkers, it never once looks over its shoulder to find out where the bubbling sound is coming from.

“Little more, little more. Now!” Spike shouts and both he and Harris run at the demon, yelling and waving their arms.

The startled demon begins waddling backwards at its top speed, and lets out noxious clouds of gas as it goes. A high-pitched shriek assaults their ears, as the demon backs up against a low wall and topples over into a knee-deep fountain.

Spike runs to the edge, closely followed by Harris. They watch the demon gradually submerge and disappear, dissolving just like sugar in hot coffee. Puffs of gas rise from the water for a few moments, then are gone. When they are certain it’s dead, Spike turns slowly to Harris.

“So, now. Fart monster’s gone, and I think someone made mention of a night-long fuck?” Spike begins a slow, stalking step, his eyes fix on Harris and don’t give an inch. “You better be ready to live up to that, Harris. The way you’ve been teasing me for days. Waving your bloody arse at me, like you did tonight. That sort of behaviour has consequences.”

“Punishment or reward?”

“How about one of each then?” Spike stops directly in from of him and reaches out to unbuckle Harris’s belt.

“Whoa!” Harris shouts and pulls away. “Me, you, sex? Hell yes. Me, you, public sex? Big hell no.”

“Bloody humans,” Spike sighs, but he’s not mad, just horny. “Alright. My place is closest, let’s go.”

They jog the short distance to Spike’s crypt, and arrive in minutes. Spike waves Harris through the door and bolts it behind him. He doesn’t want to take a chance on the slayer walking in while he’s doing his best to make this boy squeal.

When Spike turns from the door, Harris is standing in the middle of the room, his hands shoved into the back pockets of his jeans. Just for a moment, Spike wonders how on earth he got them in there when those jeans are so tight, but then his eyes drop down, and Spike doesn’t care, because the way that has stretched the front of the boy’s jeans over an obvious erection, should be illegal.

Spike peels off his duster and lets it drop to the floor. He unbuckles his belt, pulls it out and tosses it away. His boots are kicked off and his socks soon follow. Harris smiles and slowly walks over to stop in front of Spike. He somehow extracts his hands from his pockets, reaches out and pulls the hem of Spike’s T-shirt from his jeans.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Harris says as his hands slide under the shirt and up Spike’s sides.

“How long?”

Harris doesn’t meet Spike’s eyes, his own are too focused on the belly and chest he is exposing, as he slips the T-shirt up and off. “Okay, well two or three days, but it feels like longer.”

Spike smirks. “Know what you mean, pet.”

“Oh, god.” Harris splays his hands out on Spike’s chest, his thumbs brushing over the nipples. “I think this is going to be quick, for me at least.”

Spike switches the smirk for a leer. “Not a chance; reward and punishment, remember?”

“Huh?” Harris is touching Spike everywhere and his eyes are wide with wonder as they follow the paths his hands take.

Spike tilts Harris’s head up so their eyes meet. “Punishment. Reward. Consequences, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. So what’s my reward?”

“Your reward is, you are going to come like you never have before. There may be squealing regardless of what you say.”

Harris’s hands stop stroking Spike’s neck; instead, they clench on his shoulders and he groans. “My punishment?”

Spike drops to his knees and undoes Harris’s tight jeans, peeling the denim and boxers down his thighs. Spike lets his lips brush the tip of Harris’s erection as he speaks. “Your punishment is that you have to wait for your reward. It’s going to be a long time coming. Could take hours.”

“Evil bastard.” Harris groans again and flicks his hips, nudging Spike’s mouth. “What are you waiting for then, teach me a lesson.”

Spike is doubly proud of himself tonight, when he well and truly teaches Harris a lesson he won't soon forget and also elicits what is quite clearly a squeal. In the process, however, he realises he is a better teacher and role model than he thought, because he has created a monster, who happily, and proficiently, returns the favour until, as promised, neither can walk.




The End



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