It’d taken Xander ten minutes to convince Spike. It’d taken another ten to get the vampire into the bathtub and comfortably covered in blue bubbles. Finally entering the bathroom, Xander ignored how much bigger Spike’s arms and head looked without a body to compare them too. He really wasn’t a small guy, despite not being very tall.
“This is a bloody stupid idea,” Spike groused. His mouth looked weird without the cigarette dangling from it.
“Yes, we’re agreed. But I’m not letting you on my couch with all of that on your head.” That being a combination of blood, muck, and other ew-gross things Xander didn’t want to name. “And since you’re the seriously injured version of our favorite pain in the ass, lie back, shut up, and let me get my girlie on.”
Spike didn’t say anything, which Xander was profoundly grateful for. A wounded vampire forced to depend on a human made for a really bad-tempered vampire, and Xander was getting sick of it. Not that he minded taking care of Spike—just the attitude. Glad that there was enough room between the edge of the claw-footed tub and the wall for a chair, Xander dragged one over and sat down. Then he popped back up, filling two pitchers full of water and grabbed the shampoo.
Carefully wetting down Spike’s icky-plus-gel-encrusted hair, Xander began working the crud out. He worked very, very slowly and very, very gently—the hair was matted and he didn’t want Spike to start bitching at him even more. Surprisingly, the vampire was silent while Xander worked. It made him nervous, but not enough to comment on it. Working the gunk out took all his concentration, anyway.
Finally free of anything but bleach, Xander rinsed Spike’s head and rose. “What, that’s it?” There was a soft, drowsy quality to Spike’s voice below the belligerence. Weird. “Gonna leave me all tacky like this?”
“I really should.” But all he did was refill both pitchers and sit back down. Squeezing out a dollop of shampoo that smelled like ginger, Xander began slowly washing Spike’s hair. Not cleaning it, like before. Washing it. Rubbing over the scalp until it tingled, practically treating each individual hair to the same exhaustive method of rubbing and cleaning and generally massaging.
Xander didn’t know why he was being so thorough. He didn’t even like Spike. But he was really enjoying the way Spike pushed into each touch, humming under nonexistent breath in something really close to a purr. Xander liked that sound a lot. It traveled through his body until he felt as relaxed as he knew Spike did.
Which, he supposed, was kind of an explanation. If you squinted.
“C’mere.” Spike husky request went straight to his vibrating bones, lifting him off the chair without removing his hands from Spike slip-soapy hair. “Closer, come on. Want ’em off ...”
Pants being removed was bad. The sweats and the boxers were shoved past his feet by wet, almost-warm hands that tugged Xander into the bathtub so he was straddling Spike’s body and okay, this was weird on the side of seriously bizarre, but he didn’t want to stop. It felt so good washing Spike’s hair, even naked from the waist down, water covering him to mid-thigh.
“Don’t stop, please.” Same low, husky voice and Xander groaned out a promise that no, he wouldn’t. That groan turned into a yip of pure pleasure when Spike moved his head forward enough that he could keep Xander’s hands on his head—and engulf Xander’s cock into his mouth.
Xander locked his knees.
Sucking. Spike was sucking him, rubbing wet lips up and down his hardening shaft, tongue dancing with flickering, flittering patterns that never remained long enough for him to identify. Each bob and weave encouraged Xander’s hands to remember what they were supposed to do, and eventually they found a weirdly perfect rhythm: Spike blew Xander’s mind through his cock and Xander made sure he massaged and washed every bit of tension out of Spike. It was possibly the strangest sex Xander had ever had, and after three years of Anya, that was saying the improbable.
But oh, Spike was so good at it. Cool mouth a delicious contrast to the steam curling around his body, talented, active mouth juxtaposed against the languid eyes that occasionally flickered up to gauge his reaction to something. The faintest hint of teeth when Xander’s ability to wash faltered, causing him to jerk and gasp and grip Spike’s head tightly—which made Spike moan and sent Xander that much closer to orgasm!land.
It was slow, and and almost listless except for the intensity, and perfect, but eventually Xander wasn’t rubbing so much as holding while he fucked into an extremely willing mouth. He came with a cry that Spike echoed, that dangerous mouth milking and cleaning him without missing a beat. Xander slumped forward, heart pounding its own lambada while his body attempted to recover. The cold water finally got him moving.
Staggering up and out of the tub, Xander carefully rinsed Spike clean of the suds, pointedly didn’t look at the whitish water when it had been blue before, and tried to repress. Repress repress repress. Not just the whole insano-blowjob thing. Oh, no, that wasn’t the worst part. The worst was that Xander had spent over and hour washing Spike’s hair.
But Spike didn’t say anything as he got out of the tub, stumbling a little until Xander un-panicked enough to help him. Easing him down onto the sofa, Xander tried to think of something to say. ‘Don’t tell anyone’? ‘I’ll stake you if you talk’? ‘We’re going to erase our memories’?
Spike started snoring.