Written for…FeatheredQuill [info]inklacedfeather

Two things you definitely want included in your fic: Dark Chocolate and
One thing you definitely *don't* want to see in your fic: Rape/non-con
Preferred rating: R or NC17

Coffee Flavored Kisses


“GOOD AFTERNOON, SUNNYDALE! THE LUNCHTIME RUSH IS OVER, GET YOUR BUTTS BACK IN THAT OFFICE-” Thwap! The alarm clock gives a disgruntled squeak, and collapses in the middle.

“Soddin’, bloody, cheerful…” The coffee pot turns on, it’s perky burble and glug enticing him to peel open his gummy eyes, and peer blearily around the room. The blackout curtains have been pulled shut, casting the room in soft, hazy shadows.

He rolls out of bed, stopping long enough to pull on faded black jeans. Stumbling out of he room, he follows the hot rich scent down the hallway into the kitchen. Pausing at the fridge, he pulls out the first packet of blood his fumbling hand encounters, then trips his way to the counter. He grabs his favorite mug out of the cupboard, the one that reads Caution! Hazardous Material, he quickly checks to make sure it really is clean, and sees a slip of paper folded and tucked in the bottom.

“Now what is he up to?” His sleep tinged voice sounds like a dozen bullfrogs trying to sing. Tipping the mug, he lets the note slide out onto the counter.

I love how you look when you first wake up in the mornings. Thick, bleached curls all bed fucked. Eyes still dozy and fuzzy. Its something only I get to see, and I love you for it.

Pouring the blood into the mug, Spike sets it in the microwave and punches the right buttons. He pulls out his second favorite cup for his coffee. Peeking inside to see if there is another note. And yes, there is! He tips that one out onto the counter too.

I love your coffee-flavored kisses. So warm and bitter in the cool sweetness of your mouth. Kisses only I get to taste. And I love you for it.

Spike shakes his head, amused. Wonders what the rest of the little notes will read. The microwave pings, and he pulls his breakfast out. Sips it slowly while he thinks about the mile-wide romantic streak carefully hidden beneath all the bluff and bluster his pet liked to project. He rinses out his mug, and sets it in the sink, pours himself a steaming cup of coffee and smiles at the first bitter taste. Wanders into the bathroom for his shower.

A bright pink Post-it™ note is stuck to the middle of the mirror. He feels the grin stretch his face.

I love how you look in the shower. Wet and slick and soapy. I could run my hands and mouth over your flesh for hours. There are days I just can’t get enough of how you feel, how you taste. Those little growls you make when I wash your hair. How you purr when I run my tongue down your spine. Those are mine, and I love you for it.

Spike slowly peels off his jeans; heart lost in the simple sweet words, cock swelling at the erotic memories. Mechanically turning on the shower, he slips beneath the stinging spray. Soaps up his chest and strokes his shaft. Imagines it’s Xander’s hands on his body. Loving him, touching him. His sudden harsh panting echoes in the porcelain shower stall, making it sound like he is not alone. Imagines Xander dropping to his knees, kissing the blood thick head in his hands. Lapping at the tiny droplets of precum shimmering on his tip. Slowly taking his cock into that hot wet mouth, down his throat. With a hoarse cry, he orgasms, shooting the wall with thick cool semen. Collapses to the floor, trembling.

“God I hate your job, pet.” His words are a lonely plea. Climbing back to his feet, Spike soothes himself with the knowledge that Xander will be home in a few short hours. He still has things to do. Quickly finishing his shower, he steps out and pulls a warm towel around his waist. Feels another smile gracing his face.

Xander had installed a towel warming rack one lazy Saturday afternoon after Spike had jumped on him, cold and wet. Just another bit of pampering for his body-heat challenged lover, and the blond had spent the following week naked, wrapped up in hot fluffy towels. Xander had never complained, just made sure there were plenty of towels for the vamp to indulge in.

He moves into the bedroom, taking notice of all the other little things Xander had done, just for him. Thick plush carpeting had quickly replaced the thin stuff that had been here when they moved in after Spike had woken Xander up with ice-cold feet to the small of his back. He pulls a fresh pair of jeans out of his dresser, and another note flutters to the floor.

I love you in these pants. They are your oldest and your softest. I used to think they actually were painted on, until the first time I got to peel them off of you, the first time I slipped the buttons out of their holes, and got to kiss the bump of your hip. How soft your skin is right there. I love the little gasp you make each time I do it. It’s a sound you make just for me, for my tongue and mouth. And I love you for it.

Spike wanders around the apartment, slightly dazed. Finds his ice-cold coffee sitting in the bathroom.

“Well. Bugger.” Returns to the kitchen to refill his cup. A yellow to-do note on the freezer catches his attention.

Roast for dinner?

“Love bein a trained house vamp.” There is no heat in his lazy voice, only affection. He had long since taken over the household stuff, doing his part to make their lives work. He pulls the butcher wrapped hunk of beef out of the fridge, chuckling at another Post-it™ note stuck to the top.

I love that you make dinner. That you love me enough to do such a domestic chore, and you only bitch about it once a day. I know you complain just because you feel you have to, but cooking doesn’t make you any less the Big Bad. I have seen you flipping and twirling those knives around. Very deadly. But you only cook for me, and I love you for it.

Dumping the meat and assorted veggies in a deep roasting pan, Spike absently shoves it into the oven. Retracing his steps, he gathers up the tiny scraps of paper, stuffing them safely in his front pocket. He wanders into the living room, finds another folded note taped to the remote.

I love watching you watch football. You always start out so calm and mellow. Sprawled on the couch like a sedated cat. Sometimes you rest your hand on the inside of your thigh, and it takes all of my self-will to not jump over the back of the couch and replace it with my mouth. Just to be there, to touch you. But the laziness doesn’t last. And before long, you are jumping all over the living room, and the things you yell at the ref scares the shit out of me and makes me so fucking hot. Your hair gets all messed u, and your eyes get all dark. And then I get a little jealous. I’m supposed to be the one to make you look like that. Only me. Then you grab me, bend me over the back of the couch and fuck me silly. And it’s ok. Football may turn you on, but only I get you off. That’s mine, and I love you for it.

Spike drops heavily to the floor. Blue eyes glinting, unneeded breath coming in quick pants.

“Damn boy is going to kill me before he even gets home.”

Finds another note tucked under Xander’s pillow, revealed when he goes in to make the bed.

I love how you hold me at night. After we fuck, or make love, or just talk. Doesn’t matter. You are touching me. You share your strength with me just as much as I share my warmth with you. You keep me safe, anchored. You whisper pretty words in my ear, and sing to me, or purr me to sleep. Those moments are you and me. And I love you for it.

Spike goes looking for the rest of the notes. Finds the next one taped to the top of the laundry hamper.

I love it when you go down on me. When you slid those pale lips over the head of my cock, pressing your tongue against the tiny slit. The little whimpers you make when you taste me. I love the way your pupils dilate when you swallow me down. The way you writhe against me, and wrap my legs over your shoulders. The way your tongue rubs against me, and your nose touches my belly. When you scrape your teeth up my shaft, and lick the vein on the underside of my cock. When your hands grip and roll my balls. When you slid your finger in my ass, and touch that spot. I love the fireworks that flash behind my eyes when you make me cum. When sound turns to color, and touch turns to music. Only you can do that to me, and I love you for it.

He finds the next one propped up against their picture on the dresser. From the night Willow had officiated their wedding. The night he finally Claimed Xander.

I love the dark chocolate handcuffs. My wedding present. It took me a while to figure that one out, but I think I did. The kinky sex was awesome, but that’s not what they were about. It was about you and me, together forever. Bound to one another, until the chocolate melted. I did thank Willow for that nifty little spell, but did you really have to give her ALL those details? Anyway, that’s the same night you Claimed me. When I’m at work, and I miss you, I place my hand over the scars. I don’t touch them, cuz then I would have to come home to change, so I just…cup. And I can feel your teeth in me, and your lips on me, and I know that you love me. YOU love ME. And I love you for it.

He tears the living room apart looking for the last note, flips all the movies out of the shelf. Rips the cushions off the couch. Runs to the bedroom to do the same there. Yanks all the clothes out of his dresser, strips the bed he just made. By the time he reaches the kitchen, tears are falling blindly from his panicked blue eyes. A quick glance at the clock tells him Xander will be home very soon, and the need to find the last note overwhelms him. He sweeps all the dishes out of the cupboard, flinching as the plates and bowls shatter against the tiled floor. Looks inside all the coffee mugs and water glasses.

Xander finds his lover curled on the floor, protectively wrapped around several scraps of paper. His dark eyes sweep the room, calmly taking in the destruction of his living room. Spike was still in one piece, that’s all that mattered.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“I couldn’t find it,” comes the rasping reply.

“Couldn’t find what, love?” Xander drops to his knees, sliding his arm around Spike’s shoulders.

“The last note. Why you love me the most.”

Xander is shocked at the tears in his lover’s eyes. “Oh baby.” He croons, cuddling his vampire close. “I wanted to tell you myself. I’m sorry, it was just a game. You’ve been restless, and I thought it would give you something to do. I’m sorry.” He settles back on the floor, pulling Spike into his lap.

“The number one reason I love Spike, by Xander Harris. I love you because, until you loved me, I was only part of a person. I didn’t realize how much of me was missing until you moved into my bed, my heart. You fill up the parts of me that hurt so bad for so long. You healed me, and made me whole. You touch me, doesn’t matter where, and I feel it in my heart. You Claimed me, made me yours. Kept me after everybody else had thrown me away. You love me. And I love you for it. And every time I think about it, I love you more. Its like it feeds itself. That’s it. The number one reason.”

Spike shudders, relaxes into Xander’s embrace.

“I forgot to turn the oven on,” he whispers. Xander laughs, and hugs him tighter.

“That’s ok, we’ll order pizza. I’ll even pay.” He kisses his lover, slow and sweet. Worshiping the cool lips with his tongue.

“Love you, Blondie.”

“Love you too, Xan.”

The End

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