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A pre-story warning (intended for those of our viewing audience who jump from title to fic without reading the info inbetween) -- the following story involves a character under the legal age of consent in a sexual situation. Granted, he's only playing with himself, so no one's corrupting him *yet*, but thought you all should know.

Series: Playtime

Fandom: BtVS

Rating: FRAOish. I think. Probably. Yeah, no way around it... even if Xanbaby doesn't know better. Eventually NC-17+

Summary: Everyone's got a kink or two -- Xander's was started by a misplaced shopping bag and ambiguous instructions.

Pairings: Eventually Spander

Setting: Definitely AU... the prelude is pre-series.

Disclaimer: The characters and universe are Joss', but I seriously doubt he'd claim credit for what I'm about to do to his boys.






Playtime!verse


by
Rowaine





Prelude, Part One
A Cure for What Ails You

Warnings: Toy!kink, underage masturbation. Please note that Xander is not quite 13 yrs old in this prelude to the actual !verse. If this bothers you, skip to the next part.

Author's Note:
This is the first (and possibly last) time I have ever used underage sexual activity (chan) in a story. It should be noted that I wouldn't be doing so now except as a prelude to the actual storyline. While we, as mature adults, understand the difference between fantasy and reality, the following chapter in no way condones sexual congress with a minor, with or without consent.

And for those of you who may not be familiar with legalese: There's a reason why we have laws against having sex with kids. It can be quite damaging to their psyche, their body, and their emotional maturity. But since no one is having sex with Xan (other than his own hand and a toy), I don't feel nearly as bad as I probably should.

Summer, 1993

His stomach ached and his rear was so sore he couldn't keep up with Jesse and Willow as they rode their bicycles down to the park. He knew it was his own fault -- how many times had his mother warned him about eating too much cheese? At the ripe old age of twelve (almost thirteen, just a few more weeks), he felt way too embarrassed to ask for help.

Bike parked at the back door, he quietly crept inside the house, hoping not to disturb his parents' Saturday afternoon binge. His legs stretched to avoid the third and sixth stairs leading up to his room, the added twinge of discomfort almost making him groan outloud. Inch by inch he closed his bedroom door, listening carefully for signs that his parents had heard him return.

All he wanted to do was flop across his bed and whimper. Maybe read a comic book or two. Take a nap even. Anything to take his mind off the painful cramping and aching pressure in his gut. He toed off his shoes and socks, and gingerly sat down on his bed... only noticing the small paper bag and folded note when his head hit the pillow.

Xander,

You are old enough by now to know better, not that it's ever
kept you from over-indulging. Yes, I know who ate the two
blocks of colby cheese. No, I haven't told your father.

Since you are now old enough to take medicine by yourself,
you should also be able to use this remedy. Just follow the
instructions on the package and you should feel better in a
day or two. You might need to stay home tomorrow, but you'll
feel much better by Monday.

Mom


Xander gave a long sigh of relief. His mom might not win any awards for her parenting skills, but she still made the effort. A closer look at the bag offered no clues, and he wondered where she'd gone shopping. Almost every store printed their logo on bags and boxes, right? He grunted away the random curiosity, and upended the bag. Expecting to find a bottle of Pepto Bismal or even shudder laxatives, his interest perked up at the oddly shaped package.

Shrink-wrapped to a piece of cardboard was a five inch length of plastic. Purple plastic. Flexible purple plastic. With an odd flat section at one end that had a hole at either side. He flipped over the strange package to find a step-by-step set of instructions, with pictures and helpful suggestions. She wants me to do that?! But how's it supposed to help with constipation? A child's blind trust in his mother kept Xander from racing downstairs to ask questions (plus the fact that he'd had to step over a pile of beer bottles on his way up -- only badness ever came from disturbing his dad's weekend buzz).

Alright, let's look at this the logical way. Hey, wouldn't Wills be proud of me? There's a tube of stuff to go along with... whatever this is. Something called KY Jelly. "A personal lubricant." Huh. He put down the tube of slick after testing a small dab between his fingers. Slippery. Guess she's serious about this. Prizing the staples apart, he lifted the clear plastic away from the purple thing and picked it up between thumb and forefinger. The package says to use lots of lubricant to ease the way... Maybe this works like a grown-up version of those icky sup- pill things she used last time.

Shuffling back to his door, Xander made sure it was locked and pulled down his window shade, then blushed as he stripped out of both shorts and underwear. No one, and I do mean no one will ever find out about this!

The Annoying Thing between his legs gave a twitch of interest as he climbed back on his bed. He knew that it was just another part of growing up -- thanks to the hell that was seventh grade Health class -- but so far he hadn't spent too much time thinking about It. It was for older kids, with cars and girlfriends and cool leather jackets. It was supposed to be so much fun, but now so dangerous with all the STDs being spread around. And hey, I remembered more than one thing from school this year.

Xander voted to ignore the tender swelling of his dick (even as his face flamed from thinking the forbidden word). He plumped up his two pillows against the headboard and leaned against them. Right, so the jelly... does it go on the purple thing, or... down there? Oh. OH! On my fingers? I'm supposed to stick my fingers up there?! Okay, this had better work, Mom.

As he re-opened the tube, one line drew his attention: "Too much is almost enough." It made sense, considering that he was going to be pushing something in an exit only place. Slippery was good. Like the orange-brown grease that got everywhere but worked so well on rusty bicycle chains. And as long as I think about it like that, maybe I can actually do this. Just greasing the kinks out, right? Oh man, no one will ever find out about this!

A brief flash of worry flooded through him. How clean was he supposed to be down there? But since the whole problem was that nothing was coming out, he finally gave in with a sigh and coated two fingers. His eyes squeezed shut, Xander spread his legs and prayed not to miss. It's my body. I should be able to do this. Mom has enough faith in me to do this without her help, right? Right! So suck it up, Xander, and let's do this.

He didn't know how bad his hands were shaking until his fingers brushed up against his nuts. A shiver of sinful pleasure/shock ran down his spine at the light contact. Wispy dark hair had only recently started growing over his high scrotum, and the unfamiliar feeling of fuzz dragging across his hand caused another thrill. He bit his lip, concentrating on his task, trying so very hard to ignore the pleasant little tingles. More pressure from his fingers meant less tickling, he hoped, so he pushed against the skin behind his balls. And nearly flew off the bed.

Holy crap, what was that? There is no way this is supposed to feel so good! It's like medicine, right? And yeah, so sometimes Mom will drink a whole bottle of cough syrup for the alcohol, but medicine isn't supposed to feel good. It's... it's... in the rule book somewhere!

As he argued with himself, Xander's fingers continued their careful prodding of the tender skin, so slick now that one slipped between his buttocks, directly across his anus. Nonononono must be doing something wrong so wrong sick in not out but feels so good... Strokes both light and firm, testing the difference, he was barely aware of how hard his untried erection had become.

And since stroking felt so nice, it only made sense to go farther. Too much is almost enough. Gotcha. Here goes... Another healthy dollop of lube, knees bent as far apart as he could stand, Xander felt around with one finger until he located the crinkled opening and pushed... and promptly banged his head against the headboard. How- wha- jeez, they never told us about this in Health class! Wonder if Jesse knows... no, not going there, no way am I gonna explain this, not even to my best bud!

His eyes flew open as he wiggled his fingertip just inside. The tight-so-tight grip of his butthole nearly made his eyes cross -- strange, slightly scary visions of what else might feel so good scittered through his mind at warp speed, so quickly he could barely catch them. For all his twelve (almost thirteen) years, and the quality information provided by the California Department of Public Education, Xander had never considered the feelings provoked by putting anything inside his body. Other than chocolate and twinkies and soda.

With much more confidence, he pushed a bit harder until his entire finger was inside, being squeezed and warmed and hugged by a part of his body he'd always tried to ignore. It was much harder to wiggle with his hand at such an awkward angle, and his lips jutted into a pout as he pulled halfway out. And moaned, loudly. Adults are supposed to tell us about things like this! How to and why, and how not to get hurt. But maybe it's because it feels so good... They wanna be stingy and not spill, keep the goods to themselves. Ha! This'll show you old farts, the Xanman can handle anythi---

His inner babble trailed off into outer huffs and soft moans. In and out, his finger had kept moving throughout his private rant, a tempo that forced the most interesting tingles up around his nuts. Clear, stringy drops of liquid formed at the top of his dick, even though he didn't feel the need to pee. If one finger feels this good, two can only get better. With lots of jelly.

A brief pause while he added more lubricant, then his fingers were back in place. It burned just a little, pushing both past his crinkled hole, and the fullness made his eyes cross. His hips lifted without permission, shifting the angle just enough for the very end of his middle finger to brush against a spongy patch... and a nova went off behind his eyes.

Oh fuuuu-- He couldn't manage to say it, even in his mind, even with his body shaking from the force of such intense pleasure. He shoved his fingers in and out, stabbing and poking, but only managed to touch that spot one more time. Frustrated with his short digits, Xander rolled over and groaned into his pillow, his hip landing on something cool. Doh, way to go, dummy. Let's forget what started this.

The flexy purple plastic thing didn't look near as scary anymore. Actually, it seemed like the best present ever. Longer than his fingers, with a nifty handle, surely it could reach that spot, right?

He stayed on his side as he slicked up the plug, lifting his top leg to reach between... but the angle wasn't good. Darn it, there's gotta be an easier way. Huh. Can't reach it good from the front... try from the back? After a second coat of slick applied with shaking hands, and an arched back, the plug slipped inside with ease. His body seemed to want the invasion, sucking it in, right against that spot.

In just a few minutes, Xander had found a rhythm that felt beyond wonderful, into the realms of mindblowing ecstasy. He barely noticed when his other hand joined the fun, grabbing his leaky dick in the same tempo. Short flashes of memory from Health class clued him in on the incredible pleasure he was feeling -- climax, orgasm, coming, the release of semen through physical manipulation. Whatever it is, I hope it never ends...

The plug pushed in and out, his hand flew across his erection, and he felt something build deep inside. Burying his face in his pillow, Xander celebrated his first orgasm with a muffled scream. He flopped onto his back and panted for awhile, shifting his hips as tiny tremors prolonged the feeling of the plug brushing against his inner walls.

Not sure how this is supposed to help me go to the bathroom, but wow! Sign me up for another round.






The next morning, Jessica Harris remembered to look through her Friday night purchases. Toiletries were dumped on the bathroom counter. Trash bags fell in the vicinity of the kitchen. Suppositories? Those were meant for Xander, but since he hadn't said anything, perhaps he no longer needed them. Now where was her treat, hmm? Surely she hadn't dreamed that visit to the adult novelty store...





Part Two
This Is Your Brain... on Hormones



Summary: Junior year at Sunnydale High. (This makes Xan seventeen, for those of you who prefer not to read smutty stories about minors.)

Fall, 1997

Four and a half years ago, Xander made a miraculous discovery, thanks to his mother's gin-saturated mistake. Two years later, he found out exactly how... abnormal, how far outside the box his favorite pasttime was from that of his classmates.

Not that he went around advertising it. Oh yeah, I'll be the poster child for Prostate Stimulation. See them line up for a personal demonstration. Not! But contrary to the opinions of his teachers, parents and other authority figures of adult status, Xander did actually pay attention to his surroundings. He took careful notes of the topics of locker room discussion. He listened to conversations in the halls and during lunch. He even went so far as to gasp offer a sympathetic ear while his favorite girls went through PMS. And a Slayer on PMS = the most terrifying experience on earth.

So it was that, over the course of the four years and six months since he had first encountered the wonderful world of butt play, Xander had a decent sized list of do's and don't's concerning his sexuality.

The fact that he wore his much loved butt plug on a regular basis might possibly be viewed in a bad light by his peers. If he decided to share such information with them. Which he had no plans on ever, ever doing. That would definitely fall under the category of too much sharing.

He had quickly discovered that, although he was much too young to legally step foot inside Sunnydale's only adult toy store, the afternoon clerk would happily let him lurk in the shadows of the back aisles. For the price of a handjob -- the pervy, cross-eyed, balding thirtysomething got turned on by watching Xander jerk off. Which was how he discovered yet another kink to add to his growing list : exhibitionism. If some dirty old man wanted to watch him beat his meat, then leer when he shuffled up to the register with a tube of slick and a string of anal beads... well, they both got what they wanted, right? No one got hurt, no chance of disease.

Unlike most of young men his age, Xander wasn't overly fond of the glossy photos found in the usual porn magazines. Yeah, breasts were great, butts were wonderful, and the occasional glimpse of wet pink lips down there got him hot... but they were just pictures of some disinterested blonde (or brunette, or the occasional redhead) in a cheesy pose. He had to dig behind an outdated stack of Milkin' Mommas to find the editions that tipped his world on its axis. Hal (the thirtysomething pervy clerk) nearly shot a load in his Dickies the first time Xander brought a curled up copy of AssMasters and two PatchPocket Books to the checkout.

In the past year, he had accumulated quite a collection of very selective pornography, both pictorial and literary. Shortly after his first thorough reading through the very graphic, anal-centric magazine, he'd come to the conclusion that he needed more privacy -- and left the relative comfort of his bedroom behind for a double set of locks and four concrete walls in his parents' basement. It was dim, gloomy, and always smelled of moldy gym socks, but it had the best sound-proofing in the whole house. And a convenient cubbyhole under the bathroom cabinet that easily held the entire collection of books, magazines, toys, lubricant, and assorted odds and ends he would absolutely die if anyone found. He could cope with the funky smells. Especially since he quite often added his own to the mix.

Coping. That was a concept he'd learned the hard way. Coping with Jesse's death. Coping with Willow's crush. Coping with a stronger-than-superhero Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Vampires and demons and witches and werewolves? Why not! It only made sense, in a totally non-sensey kind of way. The kind of sense it did not make was his fascination with Cordelia Chase. Oh sure, she was gorgeous and popular and had that bendy cheerleader thing going for her, but man, who was slipping what sort of drugs to make him stick around for the public abuse and private gropeage?

Actually, he had a sneaking suspicion about that one. Thanks to some bedtime reading, he was well-versed in many of the so-called "alternative lifestyles", and while his male ego balked at the idea, the other ego seemed quite interested in exploring some of the darker games. Bondage and domination? Definite twitch. Sadism and masochism? Balls tightened and shivered in horrified fascination. Spankings? Good for a finale to any pleasure session. Even the idea of being humiliated, being called a slut or cocksucker, didn't turn him off. Therefore, him and Queen C as an item wasn't as wig-worthy as his best friends made it out to be. Hell, Cordy was always good for some quality humiliation, and she had the whole dominatrix thing going for her.

Which, naturally, meant that something was fated to screw up.






Spike, also known as William the Bloody, stormed back into town on a mission. His princess, his dark goddess, his beloved Drusilla had told him that "he wasn't demon enough" for her... but he had a plan to change that. Kidnapping the Slayer's little friends was the easy part. The redheaded chit had power enough to spare for a simple love charm, and if Spike managed to drag along the boy as well? It just gave him something to play with while he waited for the witchling to do her thing.

He left the girl to her smelly herbs and spellbook, then turned his attention on his other guest.

Xander woke to a splitting headache that left no doubt about the most recent memories being real. Of course, being splashed with a bucket of cold water by a vampire in full gameface helped him come to this logical conclusion. Sputtering, he nearly knocked himself out as his hands flew up to shield his face, the heavy iron manacles adding injury to insult... to injury... when they impacted with his cheeks and chest.

"Glad ya could join the party, boy," came a sneering voice from way too nearby.

He groaned and grumbled, then groaned again for effect. "Santa, I swear I wasn't that naughty this year! Couldn't you just let me off with a lump of coal, and we'll call it even?"

Instead of the expected painful death, the demon's throaty laughter met his sarcasm. Xander refused to acknowledge the shiver of arousal that raced down his spine and threatened a spectacular encore in his pants. Sure, Spike had a sexy accent, and he looked great in those sinfully tight jeans, and who could miss the way he stalked like a great big, sensual predator, and... what was he saying? Oh yeah, not getting turned on by the bad, rude vamp. Nuh uh.

Spike's nostrils flared. He had been watching the boy for signs of terror, outrage, or any of a dozen amusing emotions he'd come to expect from the Slayer's minions. With the witchling, he could safely predict a stuttering attempt at sanity -- ie, follow instructions until someone saves her. But the lad, the one Angelus had dubbed "the Slayer's White Knight"... He was a mouthy little fuck. What caught Spike's attention, however, wasn't the string of mildly entertaining nonsense out of the boy's mouth. He breathed deeply, and a wicked grin grew across his face.

"I know what you're thinking," he singsonged in Xander's ear. "Int'resting, very int'resting. Do Slutty and the Watcher know about your... preferences?" Spike quickly put his hand over the boy's mouth, cutting off whatever excuse or distraction he might try to use. "Can smell it, can't I? Not nice to lie, Xander."

Face flushing a brilliant red, the teen kept his head tucked down to his chest. "Spike," his voice was resigned and slightly huffy, "I'm a teenage male. Linoleum gets me hot, so don't let your ego explode, ok?"

A quick glance over his shoulder showed the girl to be hard at work. Or at least pretending like she was doing what she was supposed to do. Spike dropped down into a squat beside the boy, letting his knee brush against a warm shoulder, and inwardly applauded himself as the fresh wave of desire flooded his senses. He leaned down to whisper directly into Xander's ear, "I doubt that even the fanciest flooring could make you scream. From pleasure, of course." Making a point to breathe against the boy's neck, he continued the taunt, "You'd be wanting someone strong to take ya in hand, yeh? Someone to show ya the... ropes. Teach ya everything there is to know about how to please a body, train ya up just right."

Xander's higher brain functions issued a stern No way in hell, not from you!, but his dick was practically drooling at the implied offer. What do you know, you pathetic piece of meat. Not that you aren't fun to play with, but we're talking about a soulless fiend! A demon who has spent the past hundred years spilling blood across at least four continents! He's more likely to kill than kiss, right? Right, we can do this. Ignore the sexy beast -- the barbaric, blood-letting beast -- the monster who wants to suck... NO! No thinking about suckage! Get it together, Xanman.

Undaunted by the tight lipped silence, Spike ran his fingers down the boy's hunched back, smirking at the shudder of awareness his touch provoked. "Ya know what's best part? I'm not gonna keep ya here, won't force ya into anything. Won't even take a taste, pet." He let his tongue out to trace the tender edge of Xander's ear. "Leaving it up to you, whether ya want what I've got on offer. 'M sure if ya try hard enough, you'll find me, once ya make up your mind."

With that, he slithered one hand down to the boy's lap, gave him a firm grope, and smoothly stood up. Spike let his fingers card through the soft brown hair, smirking at the subvocal moan it produced, then patted the boy's head and went back to encourage the witch's progress.

Leaving behind a dazed Xander Harris, who could do little more than wrap his arms around his knees and pray for the courage to stay alive until Buffy got there to save him and Willow. And the strength to will away the Annoying Thing between his legs that made its opinion quite clear -- his libido (and dick) was very interested in accepting the purty vamp's offer. I am so fucked.






Several hours later, Xander staggered down the stairs to his basement, nursing yet another headache. Of course, the handprint on his face and trendy boot-bruised shin didn't help his frame of mind either. He silently admitted that, yes, he probably deserved both. His recently ex-girlfriend walking into the room to find his lips attached to Willow's? So of the bad. And sure, he probably could have handled it better than claiming "I thought we were gonna die, why else would I do it?" within earshot of the kissee-who-happened-to-be-his-best-friend-and-a-powerful-witch-in-training. So the face slapping he was alright with too. Who knew that cheerleading and wacky wicca stuff could give the girls such strength though? Ouch!

He opened his temperamental freezer and grabbed a recycle-able bag of frozen peas (kept just for such an emergency) and gave it a couple of good whacks against the counter of his mini kitchen, shaking the tiny spheres of icy coolness loose enough to provide maximum comfort.

My life? Is hell. I have reached levels of misery previously unknown to mankind. Or womankind. But then, womankind is kinda the whole reason for my field trip to hell in the first place, so maybe they know about it already. Oh yeah, there's bound to be this huge committee of ladies that get together once a month, just to talk about the types of torture to be inflicted on random males. Bet it's got something to do with that double-X chromosome thing. Like a club. No Y members allowed. Which pretty much guarantees that every man ever born has this glowing, beeping bullseye in their gene chart. Except... aren't gays exempt? All the girls I know think having a gay friend is so cool. Hmm, maybe I should swear off the ladies and try a walk on the bi-side. Which is where this whole mess started, what with me trying to wipe the image of Spike on his knees out of my mind by kissing a girl. God! My life is hell.






The following morning, Xander woke to the brain-scrambling tones of his clock radio. Fortunately for it, his aim was off -- his fingers accidentally hit the off button instead of knocking the noisy beast off the dresser.

Yeah, someone hates me. Seven AM on a Saturday morning. Gah, almost not worth the effort. But I should get up, shower and hunt down some breakfast. Get ready to grovel. Times two. Or possibly three, since Buff's got a healthy dose of righteous indignation going on as well. Must be that committee thing... with a hive mentality that makes sure to spread the suffering.

He rolled over to bury his face in his pillow... and nearly suffocated himself on the warm bag of mushy peas. Dammit! Well, this is gonna be a record breaking day for the Xanman, ladies and gents. By noon, they'll have to carry me away in one of those darling white jackets, with the cute little buckles on the sleeves.

Depressed, hungry, and still a little horny for reasons he refused to acknowledge in the cold light of day, Xander untangled himself from the sheets and dragged his butt into his dinky little bathroom. Standard morning ritual had him reaching for his favorite plug as he grabbed a fresh towel. The cabinet door closed with its normal creak, and he leaned over to start the shower.

He didn't even think about what he was doing, so ingrained was the habit. Morning = showertime = fun with bumpy red dildo. Only after he'd worked two fingers of lube inside his ass, the smirking face of a certain undead blonde flashed through his mind. The resulting tsunami of arousal had him spurting over the tiles faster than he'd done in years. Panting and flushed, he switched the hot water off, forcing himself to stand still under the pounding cold spray.

I can't believe... Which part of it is harder to believe? That I came so fast, or that it was over the thought of him? And is this another one to add to the list? Vampire fetish -- god no, please no! Alright, let's look at this. Angel... still inspires hatred and mockage, no sweet tingles. Darla. Now that's wrong and disturbing on so many levels. I'd rather boink Harmony. Huh, haven't spent much time with any other vamps. Well, there's Drusilla, but come on! Crazy Dru? Nuh uh, not for this boy.

So, Spike. A familiar tightening between his legs let him know that at least one part of his body liked that idea very very much. Oh shit, it's just Spike. Blond and lean and you know that isn't his natural color but damn he pulls it off so well, and what he does to button-fly jeans should be made illegal. Was he serious? Wait. No. No going there, Alexander LaVelle Harris. There is no way in this world, or any alternate dimension in any of Giles' books, that you are considering for even a split second letting William the Bloody touch you in any form or fashion. Doesn't matter what he sounded like, laughing and whispering naughty nothings in your ear. Doesn't matter how his eyes went gold when he sniffed... dammit, that's so unfair! Vamps get to smell things like lies and hormones and... eww, does that mean they can tell when girls are on the rag too?

I am so going to hell. A deeper level, since obviously I've had the tour of the meet-and-greet hall. Got my hand stamped and everything. Maybe I should get some of that sackcloth stuff and hang out by the mission, a little dented tin cup and sunglasses for props. Call out "Unclean, unclean!" and rattle the cup for spare change. Beggars work the day shift if they're smart -- no chance of meeting up with nicely muscled Brits with fangs. Unless there's a vampire priest. Or a priestly vamp? Must be a bitch getting dressed, if every time you try to put on your jewelry, it burns...

Damn, I need coffee. Double mocha, with chocolate syrup. And double chip muffins. It's safe, daylight, no way would I run into temptation in leather at the Espresso Pump at this time of the morning, right? Might have to dodge Buffy or Cordy on a pre-breakfast shopping spree, which would be. Awkward. Very. So coffee... maybe I'll just jog over to the QuikMart, grab a donut or two, and come back here. Hide, lock the doors, double deadbolt baby! And figure out how much chocolate it'll take to get back in my girls' good graces.





Part Three
Stalking for Fun and Profit



Fall, 1997 -- two weeks later

Every last cent of his savings had gone into sweets and flowers. Three summers' worth of mowing lawns, running errands, painting and planting and scooping puppy poop... gone. All for nothing.

The frost was slowly melting away from Buffy's "hi Xan", but still no signs of a smile. Cordelia wasn't nearly as hurt as she proclaimed -- loudly, and to whomever was in earshot -- she just liked to have something to bitch about. He was so very thrilled to provide her with ammunition. Can you say "self-inflicted gunshot wound"? And Willow... his cuddly, crayon-sharing, oldest and dearest and bestest friend... still couldn't look him in the eyes.

After Queen C went on a righteously indignant rant, every person living in Sunnydale over the age of three now knew that Xander Harris was beneath pond scum and was a cheating bastard who had kissed someone else's girlfriend. Every person, including Oz. Leaving Willow sans boyfriend. They weren't officially broken up, but he wanted to "give her time to really think about what she wanted". Which led to even more tears and whimpers and Xander-less hugs of sympathy.

His field trip to hell? Extended by unanimous vote.

Even Giles was acting all pissy. Well, more than usual. Sometimes it was hard to tell with all the stiff upper lipness.

To make matters worse, Xander kept finding little notes and trinkets. Outside his basement door, in his school locker, in his gym locker, even in his backpack. Each was unsigned, but he wasn't as dumb as he acted. If the faint smell of cigarette smoke wasn't a clue, the wording was a dead giveaway. No pun intended.

Hey pet,

Haven't heard from ya, thought I'd drop a reminder.
Still around and willing to do ya right.


Xander couldn't help but wonder what Spike meant. To do him right? Did that mean to do right by him, or to do him? Either way was creepy and stalkery and... gave him a tiny thrill. That he refused to admit to having, even to himself in the dark of night when the subconscious ran wild with unresolved fantasies and desires and so not helping his case any.

In the past ten days, he had been the recipient of three different kinds of lube, two dildos (one shaped like a snake, the other... defied description), a really expensive vibrator that he'd had his eye on for ages but couldn't afford, and a pair of leather cuffs. He preferred to ignore the blow-up doll -- even with slick, that was one toy he never wanted hands-on experience with.

If he was completely honest with himself, the notes were... sorta sweet. In that strange, oh my god what have I gotten myself into way.

The final bell rang and Xander joined the herd of high school students pouring out into the halls. He stopped by his locker to put away his textbooks, reminding himself that there was an English Lit paper due on Monday that he really should work on over the weekend.

He twirled the combination lock into place, snapped the latch, and held out both hands to prevent the landslide that generally happened any time he was forced to venture into No Man's Land. Much to his surprise, nothing jumped out at him. Only two hours before, he had nearly been late to Chemistry thanks to the mountain of junk falling out of his locker. Now... it was neat and tidy, and so organized that Willow would definitely be jealous. A bright pink post-it note stuck to the upper shelf, the familiar penmanship sending tingles to assorted body parts.

Xan,

Getting tired of waiting. Got places to go, people to eat.
Last chance -- meet me tonight at 8pm, outside the theatre.


Grabbing his Lit book and binder, Xander took the note and stuck it to the inner cover of his notebook. And since I'm not really wanted for research or patrol, maybe I'll show up. The worst he can do is eat me, right?






Even after two full weeks of walking home alone, he still wasn't used to how little time it took to get there. No one to talk with, exchange meaningful complaints about mutual classes and nightmarish teachers with. No one to keep the loneliness at bay.

It wasn't quite five o'clock by the time he dumped his backpack on his bed, toed off his sneakers, and grabbed a quick snack. He had plenty of time to decide whether it was worthwhile to risk life, limb and virginity by meeting Spike. And there was still a slight possibility that Willow or Buffy would call him, asking why he wasn't doing the research thing or if he was joining patrol.

He wasn't going to hold his breath.

Actually, what he planned on doing was taking a long, hot, soapy, sexy fun shower. Because nothing clears a man's head like getting off. What's that movie quote? Oh yeah -- "the poison has left the building". Can't remember which movie it came from, was funny though. And you're failing miserably at distraction techniques today, Xanman. Just give it up and accept the fact that you're looking forward to a date with the undead.

Seeing as how he was going to do the Grand Tour of Hell for the foreseeable future, Xander gave up, gave in, and grabbed his new favorite toy. He knew exactly how much the multi-speed vibrator (with cordless remote, easy to clean exterior, and gyrating head) must've cost. Unless Spike had stolen it, which wasn't beyond the realm of belief. Not that he really cared. Sex toy manufacturers charged way too much for a bit of latex and aluminum.

His dad wouldn't be home for hours, not on Friday night. Poker and a keg at his Uncle Rory's place always took precedence over coming home to the wife and kid. And his mom was already out too, probably with her bingo buddies, getting quietly buzzed on cheap wine before they dobbed their way through the rainbow. Home, alone, with brand new batteries. Whatever shall I do?

The answer to that was beyond simple -- quality time with his dick, courtesy of the demonic wet dream that refused to be ignored.

He quickly stripped down to nothing, made sure the deadbolts were in place, and prowled over to his fine new selection of toys. The choice was far from a brain-teaser. Xander picked up his preference and grabbed a couple of slightly used towels, he laid down on the bed and got comfortable. Lube in reach, check. Vibrator of his dreams, double check. Latest AssMasters magazine that he'd been saving for just such an occasion, oh yeah. One towel beneath his hips, the other within easy reach, and he was primed for fun.

He'd probably be a gentle kisser, no matter how aggressive he acts and talks. And his hands were so soft. I'll bet he was some sort of scholar or nobleman or something before he was turned. Cus that accent? Is so very fake. Doesn't matter -- it's still sexy as hell. Everything about him is. Even his gameface, in a really scary way. When his eyes went all gold, I nearly creamed my pants. God!Never ever ever telling that to the girls! They'd either lock me away, or toss me in the center of a pentagram and try to de-possess me. Again.

As any young man could verify, Xander's rambling thought processes did little to cool his need for relief. There comes a point when no amount of distraction will interrupt the southbound blood flow. For Xander that point struck... at least five or six times a day. Should he worry? Nope. He was a healthy, growing boy. And all those twinkies had to be good for something. Excess energy, preservatives, and who knows what the cream filling was good for (or made from). And speaking of cream fillings... let's jerk off!

He was already primed, hard just from picking out a toy and knowing he had peaceful, uninterrupted time where he didn't need to be quiet. The magazine lay unopened beside him as he grabbed the slick and squirted out the appropriate amount. One, two, three fingers in quick succession pushed their way past the snug ring of his asshole. Yes, he had plenty of time, but Xander enjoyed the sharp burn of a quick preparation. He gave himself a dozen fast thrusts before removing his fingers and slathering the remaining slick across the vibrator.

Oh yeah baby, you and I are gonna be great friends. I should find a name for you, something sexy and easy to cry out when you make me come. His eyes rolled at the anthropomorphist thought. Alright, so maybe that's a little much. Still, it's less of a wiggins than calling out a vampire's name.

That tiny little voice in the back of his head that always sounded like Willow's mom gave him a jolt of reality: Calling out a vampire's name was only a half step away from what he was currently doing -- accepting and using a vampire's gift.

Yeah, yeah, shut the hell up. We've got more important things to do than argue semantics, right? Like this impressive piece of manmeat just begging for a hard stroke or twenty, and that gorgeous cylinder of silicon -- with cordless remote and all the trimmings -- that is gonna feel so damn good as soon as you stop nagging me, and let me get on with it.

The little voice shut the hell up. Xander got on with it. All was right in his world.

He tested the remote on each setting, the toy's surface glistening with lube. Once assured that everything worked properly, he wasted no time in rubbing the head up and down his crack. A deep rumbling sound came unbidden from his throat at the heavenly sensations. The cool plastic head wasn't as smooth as his old toys, with the texture and ridges of an actual cock. One of the more unique features of this model was its resemblance to an uncut erection. Xander's brain-voice muttered something about nineteenth century babies not being circumsised, and wasn't it convenient how Spike was preparing him for the difference? This time, he chose to ignore the voice of logic.

Inch by inch he fed the vibrator into his ass, a running commentary of how wonderful it fit, felt, filled keeping the annoying voice on the edge of apoplexy. When he went just past halfway mark, Xander flicked the remote to gyrate... and nearly flew off the bed. Little swirly motions brushed against his prostate, not having to worry about angles and depth -- thanks to the miracles of modern engineering, this baby would conform to his needs. At that point, Xander fell just a little in love with his devilish benefactor.

He wasn't going to last long, high strung and in desperate need of stress relief. Making sure that the vibrator was firmly embedded, he flicked open AssMasters to the centerfold. And moaned loudly. It wasn't an exact match, but the couple enjoying each other's "affections" in the picture were an eerie match for him and Spike. A wiry blonde knelt behind a tanned brunet, his healthy cock caught forever halfway inside, a bright pink handprint marking his bottom's bottom. Oh fuck, is that what we'd look like? Would he spank me for real, or do it light and teasing?

The next page held a short story detailing how the men in the picture got together, what their favorite positions were, and a few tips on how to give a better blowjob. He flipped to the next page, which showed the same couple, but this time with the brunet riding the blonde's cock. The shot was taken from behind, giving the perfect view of a thoroughly penetrated asshole. He really, badly wanted to experience that for himself. And since no one else was volunteering, it looked like he was going to take a chance with a certain centurion vampire.

Just the thought of giving in to his personal wet dream had Xander exploding in minutes.






A darker section of shadow outside the basement's only window moved a fraction of an inch. The show had definitely been worth taking a risk of the last half hour of daylight. He didn't know if his boy would give in because of his threat, and just had to watch the sweet one playing with his pressies.

After the lovely performance he'd witnessed, Spike was fairly confident of the evening's outcome. That lovely boy, moaning his name as jets of creamy semen painted long stripes across his smooth chest. By the time Xander had wiped down and put away, Spike had his button fly opened and was brutally stroking himself to the memories of sight, sound and smell.

Might not be ready to admit it, but my little pet is ripe for the picking. And all mine.





Part Four
Dances with Vampire



Information about the movie mentioned can be found here. savoytruffle recently finished a story called, appropriately enough, Dirty Dancing Spander Style -- it made a big impact on me, combining my favorite movie with my beloved boys. So when I needed the imagery, of course it was the first thing to come to mind.

Fall, 1997 -- that night

Standing a few steps away from his bed, Xander stared in amazement. He honestly hadn't realized just how many hideously bright shirts he owned. Each one a testament to his parents' apathy and penny-pinching attempts at spending the least amount of money they could get away with for his general welfare. And there was no way in this world (or any of the alternate dimensions he'd heard about) that Xander was willing to embarrass himself by wearing them to meet Spike.

No, I'm not looking for excuses to skip out. Not that I need an excuse, cus hello? Vampire! This is gonna end so bad.

Frustrated beyond belief, he stormed over to his dresser and yanked open the bottom drawer -- the one that held old clothes, usually used for mowing and outside work, where it didn't matter what covered. A pair of last year's jeans, washed so many times they were nearly white and way way too snug for comfort, and an equally worn t-shirt. Solid, russet brown, and as soft as a baby's bottom. Now how many people go around feeling a baby's butt for comparison? That's just weird.

He struggled with the jeans, almost having to lay down to pull up the zipper, but managed to get dressed and out the door by half past seven. He was actually pretty proud of himself: no matter how nervous he was about the upcoming "date" with a Master vampire, Xander remembered to grab his denim jacket and a handful of stakes, his house keys and wallet, and all without dropping a thing.

More paranoid than usual, he kept up a brisk pace all the way to the theatre. Shadows seemed to follow him every step of the way, and the most benign sounds made him jump. Yeah, this has got to be the dumbest thing I've ever done in my life. Going out with a vamp? After all those digs at Buff for dating Angel... But at least they were in an actual relationship. This thing with Spike is just. Sex. I think. I hope. Cus if not, I'm gonna go out coming. Which, y'know, isn't that bad a way to die, so hey, we all win here, right?

At the end of the block, he hooked a sharp right into the theatre's parking lot. It took a large amount of restraint to keep the skip out of his step, but Xander's internal mantra of Don't mess this up -- Geeky Xan isn't here tonight encouraged an even pace, strong (if faster than usual) heartbeat, and straight shoulders. He might not feel like the coolest kid in school, but there was no way he was going to look like some kicked puppy either.

Halfway to the front steps, he stopped. So suddenly he almost tripped over his own feet.

Spike stood at the corner of the building, leaning against the brick wall and smoking. He looked like a punk version of the Marlborough man -- long and lean and... self-possessed. Wow, guess I paid attention to one of those inspirational infomercials. But the term fits. This is one vamp who knows exactly what he's capable of, how good he looks, how tough he is... Freakin' hell, if he was any more self-assured (cocky!), he'd need a separate pair of painted on jeans for his ego.

When his legs had voted to overrule his brain, Xander didn't know. He couldn't remember walking the last fifty feet, couldn't remember taking a step up onto the sidewalk, couldn't remember a single moment when he'd ever been affected by another person quite as much as right then.

"Evenin' pet. Glad to see ya." Spike's tongue touched behind his top teeth, a slow smile curving one side of his mouth. He flicked away his cigarette and crammed both hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Obviously, the blonde's jeans had some sort of warped space age engineering going for them, defying the laws of physics that promised 'no two objects can occupy the same space.'

Xander's hard-won level of mock cool evaporated, and his head ducked down to hide an unwanted blush. "Hey," he croaked, then cleared his throat to try again, "Nice night, huh?"

A scarred eyebrow lifted. "So we're gonna do the small talk bit then. 'Salright, I can do that." Spike grabbed the boy's left hand and placed it in the crook of his right elbow. "Let's find someplace a tad more... intimate, yeh?"

Leading the boy a few blocks away from the movie house, he kept up a low key string of conversation. School, friends, TV shows and even comic books, all topics that he seemed easy with, able to discuss on Xander's level. They even touched on some of the recent demon attacks -- much to the boy's surprise -- with Spike offering praise or criticism for the way such beings had been handled.

Xander found himself truly enjoying his time with the blonde. And if that little voice kept making itself known, reminding him This isn't a date... it's a suicide mission! You can't really want to boink the undead, Alexander Harris., well, he'd had some practice at shutting it up.

Off the main path and down two darker, oh so not good alleys, Spike stopped them in front of a solid metal door. Xander couldn't see a single plaque or sign to indicate where they were, but before his nerves had a chance to overload, the blonde raised his fist and rapped out a quick beat. The door opened almost at once, and Xander finally understood where they were. Or at least what type of place it was.

Spike -- the Master vampire, the youngest and deadliest of the Scourge of Europe -- was taking him...

Dancing.






Just after their tenth grade ended, Willow and Buffy had dragged him over to the Summers' house for a weekend of junk food and movies. The line-up was girly to the extreme, and yeah, he'd made a few token complaints. But he'd also developed a taste for certain types of films because of it. Dirty Dancing was high on the list. Because, damn, what Patrick Swayze could do with his hips should be classed as adults-only. He barely caught himself from saying that outloud -- the disapproving, horrified, or 'I'm so blond that I must ask for explanations' looks on his closest friends' faces just wasn't worth it.

Still, after the obligatory protests, Xander had settled back in Joyce's overstuffed recliner to watch the movie. Swayze moved like liquid sex, and the scorching heat in his eyes made Xander's jeans uncomfortably tight. Long after the girls had gone to bed, he fastforwarded the tape to one specific scene -- the dark, smokey club -- and pulled a light blanket over his lap to conceal the quick jerks as he finally found sweet release.






It took very little effort for Spike to lure the darling boy into his arms on the dancefloor. After a few nights at the local teen dive, the Bronze, Spike was convinced that he needed a less... offensive place to finalize his seduction plans. He was proven right almost immediately -- the boy seemed happy to melt into his embrace as the first few lines beat a sultry tempo around them.

Every town had a place like this. Dark and smokey, with a mixed group of pairings (whether it be gender or demonic), that placed more importance on discretion than drawing a larger crowd. A Lil' Slice of Heaven was what the sign said at the front entrance, making Spike snort the first time he'd seen it. Still, if it did its job in helping relax the boy, he could forgive the corny title.

Two hours later, he led Xander back out into the night. The boy had shown more talent than what Spike had witnessed the few times he'd caught the Slayer and her friends dancing frantically to the crap they played at the Bronze. Gotta remember to ask him where he learned it.

Now, with a blissfully warm human hanging on his arm, all Spike wanted was to drag him back to his lair and ravish the mortal's willing flesh. A quick flick of his eyes showed the streets free of other pedestrians, and he pulled the boy down a side street.

Xander's heart didn't even have the time to speed up before he was pinned to the wall. His eyes widened, then fell shut in pleasure as cool, sweet lips took their first taste of his mouth. He vaguely remembered guessing how Spike would kiss... but none of his fantasies could compete with the reality of it. The vampire tasted of tobacco and whiskey, with a faint coppery flavor he knew to be blood, and the tangy sweetness of pink lemonade. That last bit almost made him laugh at the incongruity of a soulless demon drinking kool-aid. Almost, until Spike nibbled his way across Xander's lower lip before slipping his tongue inside.

Slow and gentle, Spike explored his boy's mouth, only pulling away to keep the fragile human lungs from oxygen deprivation. "Oh pet, could spend all night just kissing ya." He proved the point by letting his tongue trace lazy circles from lips to earlobe, giving the boy time to breathe properly while Spike took note of each shiver and moan. "Ya ready for more, Xan? Ready to see how good I can make ya feel?"

He didn't have to think about it - the answer was definitely yes. No matter what his inner voice wanted to scream, Xander knew he wouldn't pass up this opportunity. Even if it cost him his humanity. "Yeah. Show me, Spike. Show me everything."

Sparkling blue eyes flickered briefly with golden flecks. Things never went so smoothly for Spike, but he wasn't about to question his good fortune. Here was his boy, primed and ready to be taken, used however Spike saw fit. And all it had cost him was a couple of weeks worth of pacing and a few naughty trinkets. Who said he couldn't use a bit of patience when the situation called for it?





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