Sequel to Helping Hand
Sometimes, Xander looked for him. He tried not to make it too obvious, but occasionally Willow gave him funny looks and Xander knew she'd caught him glancing too intensely at the crowd.
It'd been over a month and he hasn't seen Spike again since that night.
His face heated with embarrassment whenever he thought about it. Not that night. But the way he couldn't stop thinking about that night. The way he couldn't stop scanning the crowd for bright, blue eyes in a pale face. Or hair so blond it was almost white.
He'd do it at the bronze, but it didn't take long for him to start scanning every face he passed on the sidewalk, too.
No one had ever touched him the way Spike had. And he'd never thought about other boys, men, the way he thought about Spike late at night with his hand on his own cock, trying to recapture the feeling of having Spike's hand, his mouth there.
He goes home disappointed every day, every night.
Was Spike just passing through? He'd had an accent, the kind that made Xander shiver. English. Like Giles. But Xander didn't want to think about that too much, either. Besides it wasn't exactly like Giles. It was harder, a little less refined.
And Xander knew that if he ever heard it again it would make him hard instantly.
He shuddered, burrowing a little deeper into his mattress and pulling the blanket higher up on his chest. He knew it was dumb, he was sixteen years old, but he still had this innate fear that his mom was going to walk in on him jerking off and there was no way he would ever live past that.
Xander wrapped trembling fingers around his shaft, stroking softly upward. He always started off slow, loose because he wanted it to last. Wanted to remember everything from that night before he came.
By the time he got to their come-flavored kiss Xander was leaking all over, the wetness making him moan against the thick cotton of his blankets. Spike had been so --sweet wasn't the right word, but Xander could never think of any other -- after that.
His voice had gone whispery soft, his tone gentle as he'd explained to Xander what to do, how to touch. Xander could hear the desire, the pride whenever Xander had done something right. He shivered, every hair on his body standing on end when he thought of the way Spike had growled the words “good boy" against his skin. He'd made Spike feel good. Made him come, hips jerking against Xander's body, come spilling over Xander's hand.
Spike hadn't ever known but Xander had tasted him after he'd left. Had compared the flavor of Spike against his own. The sense memory of that taste always brought Xander right to the edge.
He gripped the base of his cock, panting as he fought against his climax.
Sometimes, when Xander's this close he can feel the echo of a sting against his shoulder where Spike's teeth had sunk in. But Xander doesn't come.
He never comes until he relives that moment in the stall when Spike's kiss turned feral and conversely his expression when he'd pulled away from Xander had turned tender. When he remembers the exact inflection of Spike's words as he'd asked what Xander knew was a rhetorical question.
“Gonna have to come back for you, aren't I?"
Xander shuddered and came hard, hastily wrapping a wrinkled handkerchief around his cock. He groaned, biting his lip against the too loud sound.
It was stupid, and juvenile. It had been a one night stand, without the actual sex, and Xander knew it. There was no way that Spike was coming back. No way that he'd want Xander if he did.
He tossed the handkerchief into the dirty laundry pile building up in the corner of his room. He'd rinse it out tomorrow before his mom gathered up his clothes to wash.
Feeling dumb and a little depressed, Xander curled up onto his side and pulled the blanket over his head.
Spike watched as the lights went out, smirking as he sniffed the air. The boy's window was open and it wasn't hard to figure out exactly what Xander had done to help him fall asleep that night.
Palming his groin, Spike adjusted his erection before wrapping his duster more tightly around himself.
He hadn't told Dru about Xander, but she'd smelled him all over Spike that night. To his surprise Dru hadn't objected, hadn't gotten jealous or weepy. Instead she'd smiled and blathered on about dark kittens and sweet surprises.
Spike had just nodded, pretending to understand. He didn't, of course. But if Dru was happy, he was happy. And if she wasn't going to object to the boy, then there was no reason Spike couldn't come back for him, was there?
Xander had been perfect. Spike could never resist the innocent ones. It had been so delicious giving Xander instructions, watching him preen under Spike's compliments. The look on his face when Spike had come all over him was priceless.
And he had so much more to teach Xander.
Soon. Definitely soon.
For now Spike had to get back to Dru, had to find the Master and figure out the best way to get to the Slayer. And his bloody bastard of a Sire, too.
The only snag in his plan was that Xander was a friend of the Slayer's. Spike shook his head. A Slayer with friends. Who the hell would ever have thought it?
But Spike doubted that it would be difficult to turn Xander against her. She was a bloody cock-tease, wasn't she? Humiliated the boy in front of everyone. Left him hard, wanting. And who had taken care of him, hmm? Spike. That's who.
He'd just have to remind Xander of that.
And if that didn't work he could always turn the boy.
But Spike hated to lose all that delicious innocence. He cupped himself, rubbing lightly. No, he'd find another way.
He took one last long sniff of the arousal wafting from Xander's window, then turned and walked away.
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