A Real Live Boy


by
Margie


Spike likes watching Xander sleep. He likes listening to the solid thump-thump of Xander's heart, to watch the rise and fall of Xander's bare chest. He likes feeling the heat of Xander's body warming his skin.

He just likes knowing Xander's alive.

It's one of the reasons why Spike can't stop touching him. Why he likes to tangle their limbs, warming his toes beneath Xander's calves. His hands skim over Xander's abdomen, feathering over the hard ridges of his muscles. Never would have thought the boy had this kind of body beneath all those baggy pants and outrageous shirts.

He lets his hand rest lightly over Xander's chest, feeling the minute pulse of Xander's heart beneath his palm.

Spike will never admit to Xander that he loves this just as much as he loves the hot, sweaty sex that leaves them both screaming and sated. But he does.

Spike leans in, kissing Xander softly, then more intensely until Xander's fingers curl into the hair at the base of Spike's neck, holding him in place. He reaches down to cup Xander's morning erection, no matter that it was hours before dawn.

Teasing him with a too light touch, Spike grins when Xander growls beneath him suddenly rolling until he has Spike pinned to the bed.

"Think that's funny, huh?" Xander says, circling his hips to rub himself against Spike's own arousal.

"No, luv," Spike says, feeling covered, surrounded by Xander's big body. He can smell Xander's sweat, feel his heat and the rough rasp of his chest hair. Xander in all his glory, taking what he wants from Spike.

Yeah. Spike loves watching Xander sleep, letting himself revel in the life of his love, but that didn't mean that he didn't want a good fuck every now and then.

Or, you know. As often as a real live boy can.




The End



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