A series of drabbles based on various Spike and Xander quotes
A History in Quotes
Xander: I happen to be very biteable, pal. I'm moist and delicious.
Spike: All right, yeah, fine. You're a nummy treat.
Xander: And don't you forget it.
Would plot ways to torture Harris, but betting this recliner beats that hide-away. Stayed in some dives in my day, but this? A new nadir. Bloody good thing no-one knows I'm here. Plus now I've got proof he doesn't remember his Rambo night. No one with training would call THESE knots. Bagged blood and dank cellar accommodations –and they call themselves the good guys?
What's he nattering on about, moist and delicious? Like those Snack'n'Cakes ads. Cake and frosting all in one.
Worrisome it is, he just might be a nummy treat. At this point anything 98.6 degrees would be.
Spike: I'm not having these two shag while I'm tied to a chair three feet away.
Xander: That's not exactly one of my fantasies, either.
Anya looked at them. Hmm…a bit of bondage, an enrapt audience. The idea did have some merit. As they continued to bicker, she pushed back into the sofa thinking about all that energy and it focusing on her.
Or on each other. Their kisses would be battles, push-pulling back and forth. Tying Spike up would mean that Xander would be sitting on his lap, legs sprawled across those denim clad thighs, heat nudging heat. Spike's hands grasping for any purchase, while Xander's tanned fingers would add darker low-lights as they ran through Spike's hair, forcing his head to the right angle. There would be moans and the sloppy smack of desperate kisses. If she turned the chair sideways, she could see it all. Have Xander pull off his t-shirt and brush his chest against the ropes binding Spike down. Spike arching up into that warm contact, reaching with his tongue to lick Xander's neck. Maybe, staining for touch, Spike would break through those ropes. Pulling them together, forcing their bodies closer closer as they undulated in the rhythm she knew so well.
She squirmed a little, it might not be Xander's fantasy, but it might just become one of hers.
Those wacky vampires, that’s why I love ‘em. They just keep ya guessing!
He got that Spike was on their side. After protecting Dawn like that, well he'd seen tenderized beef with a better complexion. How can someone take that much damage and still be alive, or undead or well you know. So not surprised he'd be part of the getaway gang.
But Spike-type cars meant black, sleek lines, or at least some sense of style. But those wacky vamps. Not in a gagillion years would he have thought "Winnebago". Or welder's goggles.
"Spike, quite the slick fleeing machine here."
"Oi, shut up, Harris."
He'd never done anything in style, why start now?
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