Written for 2013 fall_for_sx
Characters: Xander, Spike
Rating: PG overall
Genre: Slash (sort of...)
Disclaimer: Joss and Mutant Enemy et al own everything. I own nothing
Summary: Nothing ever happens on Thursday...
Beta extraordinaire as always: thismaz
Comments are cuddled and called George
Okay, it's the first of my days to post at fall_for_sx. I started scribbling bits of this when I was on the plane over to the UK in August. It's amazing was being cooped up in small spaces does for the brain... Huge thanks to skargasm and theladymerlin for continuing to host this lovely annual Spander fest.
Nothing ever happened on Thursday. It was a fact of life – like breathing, or Willow’s guilt cookies, or Spike being annoying just because he could. Those were the constants in Xander’s life. Pizza night with the gang on Monday. Going to the gym on Tuesday. Vegging in front of the midweek action movie on Wednesday. Drinks with the guys from work on Friday. Checking out the vamp action at whatever place was this week’s hot spot on Saturday. Research night at Giles’ on Sunday.
Of course he wouldn’t list it like that because, as a list, it looked kind of dull. Predictable, humdrum, sad even. Xander would say dependable, steady, something to rely on. Certainly not dull, because really, living on the Hellmouth, nothing was ever certain, and therefore nothing was ever dull. Even when it was.
That brought him back to Thursday. Thursday was the closest thing Xander had to being dull. Buffy and Willow always had a girls' night. Giles did whatever Giles did when they weren’t around and there wasn’t an apocalypse to worry about. Spike did, well Xander had no idea, and no burning ambition to find out. So on Thursday’s he had a routine. He got home from work, had a soak in the tub, rummaged in the freezer for whatever looked vaguely edible and flicked through the channels at 100 mph without settling on anything. Without fail he gave up, turned in and had the light out by ten. He didn’t even jack off because that would be too much effort. That summed up Thursday. Until it didn’t.
The day started off as normal. He showered, grabbed a coffee, drove to the site and spent the day doing stuff that had absolutely nothing to do with the things that go bump in the night. He increased his cholesterol at the lunch wagon, increased his heart rate with a triple shot in his mid afternoon coffee and increased his blood pressure gradually throughout the day making sure the newbie didn’t kill himself in a variety of creative, construction-related ways. When the whistle went, he waved to the rest of the crew and headed for home.
Nice, dependable Thursday, Xander thought as he ambled up the stairs to his apartment. Tub, freezer leftovers, surfing, bed. It might not be up there with ‘Om’, but as a mantra, Xander wasn’t going to knock it.
He pushed open the apartment door, flicked it closed with a practised back heel and dropped his hat and tool belt on the table by the coat closet. He knelt to take off his boots, concentrating on a particularly stubborn knot in the laces.
“You look good on your knees,” a voice said from the darkened living room.
Xander paused, one boot on and the other off. He rose slowly, blinked once, shook his head and bent down to pull off his other boot.
The voice came again. “A bloke could get used to that sight.”
Xander stood up, this time not so slowly and walked cautiously into the gloom of the main room. Everything was as he’d left it that morning. The blinds were still almost closed. The boxed set of Babylon 5 was still on the coffee table. The remains of breakfast was still on the counter and the trash was bagged up and ready to go out to the dumpster. There was just one thing out of place. There was a vampire on his sofa. A naked vampire. A naked vampire who was jacking off while humming snatches of Sheena is a punk rocker. Xander paused and rewound the scene in his head, regardless of the fact that it appeared to be happening live and in technicolour, in real time, in front of him. The vampire was jacking off on his sofa. On his sofa there was a vampire jacking off. Any way he parsed the sentence didn’t change what he was seeing. Then another thought occurred to him and his brain skidded to a stop with all the finesse of Wily-e-Coyote trying to stop himself going over a cliff. He didn’t get to jack off on Thursday, so why the hell did Spike think it was okay for him?
There was a part of Xander that wanted to squeak, but after a second's consideration he concluded that squeaking was not a manly noise, even if there wasn’t anyone there to hear it. And there wasn’t, he decided. Anyone around to hear it. The whole thing was almost certainly a hallucination, brought on by the earlier triple shot in his coffee. Satisfied that he’d reached an acceptable conclusion, he turned his back on the sofa and headed for the bathroom. Maybe a soak in the tub wasn’t a good idea, he thought. If he was already having caffeine-fueled hallucinations, then god knows what lounging up to his neck in hot water would conjure up. Shower, he decided, that would do the trick. A nice warm, but not too hot shower would wake him up and relax him at the same time. Get rid of the after effects of the coffee, and the dust from the site, and when he came out, his apartment would be exactly as he left it that morning, completely devoid of vampires. Yep, he had a plan.
He turned on the shower, letting it run until the water pressure settled while he stripped. Shirt, sweaty t-shirt and boxers in the hamper. Jeans and socks on the floor, because the hamper was now full and edging towards unruly. But then, he was a bachelor and bagging up his trash for the dumpster was as far as he went when it came to domesticity. Ever since Anya had decided a career in LA real estate was more rewarding than saving the world, keeping his hamper at a reasonable level hadn’t exactly been at the top of his weekday priorities. Laundry was a Sunday thing, right up there with researching at Giles’. Definitely not something to be thought about on Thursday, no matter how bored he was. He stuck his hand into the shower stream to test the temperature, then eased under the warm water and sighed as it pounded down on his shoulders, washing off the grime and dust of the day. Pouring a generous dollop of shampoo into his palm, he lathered his hair, enjoying the way the strands curled and separated under his fingers as the bubbles did their work. He tipped his head back and let the water flow down over his face and his scalp, until it ran clean and he felt like his hair would squeak if he tweaked it.
Squeak, there was that word again. The sound he hadn’t made when his imagination had conjured up the naked vampire on his sofa. The naked vampire who’d been jacking off. Xander grabbed the shower gel and started to soap up his chest, studiously avoiding his nipples because it was Thursday and he didn’t do sex on Thursdays. His hand strayed downwards and unbidden the image of the naked vampire came back into his mind. A little voice at the back of his brain reminded him that the vampire was jacking off. That the vampire didn’t care that it was Thursday. Maybe, the voice whispered, he could follow suit. After all, the voice continued, he’d already broken routine with a shower instead of a bath, so what was one more deviation from the norm? Deviation, the voice lingered on the word, drawing out the syllables and Xander wondered when the voice in his head had taken on an English tone. Deviations were interesting, unpredictable, exciting. Certainly never dull.
Xander fingers drifted lower and he stroked languidly down the shaft of his cock. That’s nice, the voice muttered. Nice and slow. He leaned forward, his forehead resting against the tile and let the water pour down his back as he gave way to the sensations. He drew his fingers back up, the tips dragging slightly on the underside and shivered. Oh yeah, said the voice, that’s it. A little bit of drag is just lovely.
Xander made a noise, low at the back of his throat and trailed his fingers over his balls. Need a hand there, the voice whispered. Just a bit more slip and slide. Xander groaned and fingers danced across his crease, feathering across the delicate skin of his perineum. Close your eyes, the voice whispered again. Xander closed his eyes and the edge of a thumb rubbed across the top of his slit, teasing with almost touches that never quite seemed to land. Xander whimpered, spreading his legs wider as the fingers continued their delicate dance. The pressure started to build and the water pouring down felt harder, pounding onto his head and shoulders, running down the arch of his back and over the curve of his ass.
His cock was diamond hard and delicate as silk as the clever fingers increased their pressure and curled around the base. The water pounded and Xander drove his hips forward and the voice whispered, deep and dark in his ear - fuck yourself - give yourself some pleasure - listen to your body - listen to my voice. His hips drove faster and the fingers gripped and the friction built and the voice whispered - deviate, pet. Take a left turn. Xander cried out and came.
The tile was slick under his hands and his palms slid on the wet surface. He swayed, riding the aftershocks as his body shuddered helplessly and finally slowed, molten lava turning to glacier as he breathed through the sensations. Raising his head, he opened his eyes and looked upwards. The water cascaded down, blinding him. A feather like touch flickered down his back. He shuddered again, groping for the shower controls and the water trickled to a stop. Taking a deep breath he turned around. A towel was draped over the top of the shower rail and without thought he pulled it down, wrapped it around his waist and pushed back the curtain. The bathroom mirror was steamed up, so he stepped carefully out of the shower, fingered his hair roughly back into shape and exited the bathroom.
Everything in the living room was as he’d left it. The blinds were still almost closed. The boxed set of Babylon 5 was still on the coffee table. The remains of breakfast was still on the counter and the trash was bagged up and ready to go out to the dumpster. There was just one thing missing. The sofa was empty of vampires. That proves it, he thought, it was just my imagination.
But why were you imagining? the voice said. The thought was followed by a low, dirty chuckle that curled around the base of his spine like second hand smoke.
Thursday, Xander thought, maybe it wasn’t such a dull day after all.
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