For tabaqui who gave me a snippet, and told me to run...went a little over drabble length, and just a touch past ficlet length...:)
Two hours, fifty-eight minutes left.
Three hours. The longest three hours in the history of time, and here it was, looming over him like an iceberg. Just like an iceberg. Itty bity bit on top, look at it and say to yourself, that’s not so big. Really don’t look like much. Then you go beneath the surface, and realize this is what sunk the Titanic.
Xander gave himself a mental slap, mind babble was not the way to make the time pass. Thinking about things not Spike related was the order of business. Nope, not thinking about Spike tied to the bed, cock hard and bobbing in the air, looking around for a tight snug ass to sink into...yeah, not thinking about Spike was really gonna work. He could tell.
Two hours, forty-five minutes left.
Papers filed, crew given their raises, two trips to the water station. He was going to be completely insane by the time he got home.
Two hours, fifteen minutes left.
It was like Spike had set up a home movie theater inside of Xander’s head. He could see his lover spread out, all languid and horny. Blue eyes flashing gold and topaz, half hooded with lust. Pink tongue flicking out to rub against a moist bottom lip. Xander bolts from his desk, heading to the bathroom for some much needed quiet time.
One hour, forty-five minutes left.
and now Spike has set up the audio portion of Xander’s little hallucination. Every dirty, filthy word Spike had ever said, in or out of bed, was playing in stereo in his mind.
”Fuck yeah, Xan, love your tongue. Love your mouth wrapped around my cock.”
“Slide my cock so deep inside you, you can taste me when you swallow, taste me forever.”
“Love it when you fuck my mouth baby. Honey sweet cock rubbin’ the back of my throat. Shooting hot down in my belly. Lick all that spunk off with my tongue.”
When the office assistant sticks her head in, reminding him of his next meeting, Xander falls out of his chair.
One hour, fifteen minutes left
And that was the meeting from hell. Two old, bald, really fat men wanting to talk about braces and foundations. Every word brings to mind Spike tied to the bed. Arms stretched over his head, legs spread eagle and bound. Makes a mental note to check the iron cross bars under the bedframe. Wouldn’t do to have the bed collapse again. As his mind wanders off into technical jargon, his cock stays right in its happy place. Hard and pushing against the zip of his khakis.
Forty-five minutes left
The constant tick tick tick of the second hand bounced around in the empty vista of his brain. All thought processes had been directed towards keeping his cock from exploding. Every breath, his heart beat thudding through his veins, the slight breeze drifting in through the open window. Every sensation sent by Spike to drive him mad, melt his brain, and squeeze every drop of life through the head of his cock. Yeah, Spike was in so much trouble.
Fifteen minutes left
He couldn’t stand it any more, pacing this ridiculously small office, four walls shrinking by the minute. He opens the door, slams it shut. Spike would not win this round. Nope, he was staying here until five o’clock if it killed him. And it probably would.
He left the building as fast as he could, without anybody calling for an ambulance. Although he would nail Joe from finance about the fire engine remark. His cock was not designed to douse any flames. Skated by two highway patrol cars at speed limit, flooring the pedal when the black and whites were out of sight. And only ran two stoplights, ok, it was three, but the last one really was about to flip to green. Honest.
The front door was open when he got home, candles lighting the path to the bedroom. Dinner could wait, he had something much better to put in his mouth.
“Xanderrrrrr....” Sultry and dulcet and so so needy. And who was he to deny....
The bedroom door frames his lover like a perfect picture. Sprawled out just like the image in his head. Arms stretched high above his head, hands wrapped around the midnight blue robe belt. Hair tousled not a drop of gel in sight. Legs cocked out and showing off the long, solid cock. And lookee there, waved. Right at him. Saying hullo to his favorite toy. One Xander, present and accounted for, ready for playtime.
“Got something for ya, pet.” Spike twitches his hips, making Spike jr. do the happy dance. Making Xander jr whimper and cry and pop the button off his pants.
“Guh.” And that’s it. The extent of his vocabulary at this moment in time.
“That’s all right, luv. You don’t need to talk, got better things planned for that tongue of yours.”
And boy does he.