Summary: Answer to my own challenge posted on SAFMX - the comfort zone.
Slight spoilers for season seven. **Beta read by the most excellent Edibbea & Vigdis. Two ladies who deserve chocolate and much naughtiness for the quick, thorough beta. *All* mistakes are mine, because basically I'm a plonker!
Archive: Unconventional Relationshippers
Warnings: Don't give me caffeine it makes me hyper an' keep away from dark alleys.
Disclaimer: No mine. I'm just borrowing 'cause I was bored today.
Set just after Spike moved into Xander's apartment, that's it.
Love of self
OK, my apartment's still and quiet for the first time since I let the Not-so-Evil-Undead take up residence in my closet. I can't help it, I smile. It's like I'm saying Spike is my own, personal dirty little secret - which he totally isn't. But it's a cool picture to play with while I watch the rain outside hit the windows of my apartment like fireflies with a death wish. It's kind of nice being able to just sit and completely relax.
I have no Anya coming over. I still miss her, but not so much. Maybe the hole in my heart wasn't such a hole? And the lack of constant put downs and
stinky cheeses are definitely on the plus side of the Anya gone list. The not having of the sex is about my biggest 'I miss Anya'.
I miss the warmth of a vagina (and why does that word make me feel dirty?) as I slide in after I've done showing her what else a smart mouth can do.
That silky tightness gripping me, and the sweet sensations coupled with the love we had for each other. And we did love each other, just maybe not
enough I guess.
And I know for a fact that the girls aren't gonna come over. They have this whole 'female bonding' thing going on tonight which the token male is so not invited to - an' I can deal. I can't help it - the image of Buffy and Willow bonding sort of makes me horny. I'm sick. I am a sick, twisted
Xander. Who has a girly magazine with his name on it hidden away from prying vampire eyes.
I sit back down with my glossy magazine filled with glossy pussy. This is good. and I can say that word in my head if I want to. I am so not
picturing Willow calling me a potty mouth. Anyway, this is good. At this moment, life is good. I've missed this.
I flip through the pages. I'm reading the articles, ok?
'This is Marta.' Ahh - Marta!
'She wants to be a. veterinarian?' Go Marta!
'She enjoys long walks and swimming and likes to..'
Marta has a pretty face. Yes, I'm looking at her face! She also has a nice ass. I'm an ass man. When I'm not being a boobs man. In my younger days I
had whole conversations with women's breasts. Ok, not some of my better moments. I'm thinking a little repression would be good right about now.
They didn't have much to say anyhow, they were always pretty one-sided conversations.
I wiggle a little as the horniness in my brain starts to travel south. I'm feeling a little pleasurable anticipation here and I'm not in a hurry. Biteless isn't gonna be back for a couple hours and I'll clean up when I'm done. I don't want Willie-doesn't-want-to-bite-any-more knowing what I've been up to. Which is strange because when I had him tied to a chair in my parents' basement - again, fun image to play with - it didn't bother me.
Maybe it's because I didn't see him as a person then. I don't know, but it just does now, ok? Maybe it's because I'm not a teenager any more and the
innocent mutual masturbation sessions with Jessie are way too far behind me. Maybe it's because I've gotten used to my own space and instead of biting my lip, I like to let out the little grunts and moans I make when I come.
My hand moves down, this is nice. It travels underneath the magazine and makes Marta's pert bottom bounce as I fumble with the fastenings on my
I finally have the darn things undone and slip my hand into the comfort zone. It's warm and soft and nestled contentedly against my body. Ahh -
the friend of my youth! It's plump and, ok not so large at the moment.
I run my dry fingers over it, stroking up to the top and just lightly touching the sensitive ridge. The thought of what I'm about to do makes me
tingle. I spread my legs a little as I let my hand drift back down. I can feel the soft hairs of my thighs. Baggy pants are a gift from the gods!
Then it hits me. It's been so long since I've gotten a chance to explore my love of self at a leisurely pace, that I haven't got anything better than
spit on hand and nothing to clean up with afterwards.
I curse, loudly and fluently - in many languages (Giles would be so proud) and knock Marta off of my knee as I head for the bathroom, shedding my pants on the way. I grab Kleenex and my lubrication of choice and the towel Spike has so conveniently left on the floor. Again. Spreading the towel on the sofa I try not to smirk as a pair of briefs drop out.
They're not mine. I know this because I have never - in my life bought anything so. English! If you could psychoanalyze pants, these would say 'repressed' in a loud whisper. They're white and the kind your mom would buy in packs of three from Wal-Mart.
My smirk mingles with the naughtiness I'm already feeling and I pick them up as I sit down on Spike's towel. One hand resumes it's dry stroking as the other holds Spike's underwear up for inspection. I don't know it it's the underwear or the touching, but I'm
I absently fondle myself as I examine Spike's briefs. I always thought Spike went commando, somehow knowing he doesn't makes him seem a little more
human. I know, vampire, I still get that - but it just does.
I'm starting to feel the need for less friction so I apply a little of the slidy stuff. Nice. I put my higher brain functions on hold and just relax into the moment for a while. My mind wanders. Disjointed images float through my head. Buffy in a hard hat with a tight top. Anya bending over the magic shop counter. Spike watching me masturbate in my basement.
Spike watching me with blue, blue eyes and asking me, 'Need a hand with that, Pet?' I know my hand's speeding up without looking, it's an instinctive thing.
The Spike in my head is getting up from his chair and heading over, and watching. Running his tongue over his teeth and kneeling on my bed, straddling me, just watching.
I know I'm making noises, little gasps and moans. I always do. And the Spike in my head is reaching over with an ivory hand and running a cool
finger up the length of me and somehow he's managing to avoid my hands, which are still moving - (Hey, this is my fantasy - just go with it).
And he's looking intently as his finger stops just under the head and his hand closes and moves up, just a little. Just over the ridge and his thumb
rubs at the head, swirling some of the wetness that's already there and feeling the heat of me soak into him.
Imagination Spike is touching just where I like. He's concentrating on the sensitive underside and head and using the hand not already touching me to
reach down and fondle my balls. Then he's running a finger further back and rubbing that sweet place between my balls and my ass and he's talking to me, the way Anya used to like. Quiet and low and he's calling me 'nummy treat' and 'pet' and 'luv'. All the stuff he used to call Buffy.
I'm so intent on the bleached wonder I've almost forgotten what real life Xander is up to, until I feel the intense sensations start to build up and the overpowering need for release start to overtake me. Anya sex has taught me how to hold back, but I don't want to. Immediate gratification is too
tempting. I know I'm panting.
At this moment my mother, my boss, Giles and Willow could walk in and I still wouldn't be able to stop. That's when I hear a key turn in my
Spike fumbled with the last of his smokes as he tried to find the key to Harris's apartment. All he wanted was to go home and his feet had brought
him here, Xander Harris's apartment. He slipped the key in the lock and as he started to turn it, felt an overwhelming relief overtake him as he opened
the door to his Comfort Zone.
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