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Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, wing!kink
Summary: Xander’s been having the strangest dreams….
Disclaimer: Joss could only hint at anything this fun. I just ran with it. and I am, alas, still poor. don’t sue me.
Feedback: please!
This fic was inspired by a manip by [info]mwrgana, and she beta’d it to boot! Thanks babe.

A/N: Props must also be given to [info]incasink and [info]sexymermaid for giving me the gift of wingkink…it never would have occurred to me as an erotic thing without inca’s Belief and sexy’s Star Man and Wings. whew! Hot spangely stuff, all. And though it came after I’d already seen the light, I must confess that [info]virtualpersonal is doing a bangup job with her spander fic, Senator’s Downfall.

The title came from the famous Anais Nin quote:
"The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle."

Image by [info]mwrgana
Click the small image for full sized Original

A Moment in Unison


Part One

Xander wondered sometimes if the whole thing was borne of late-night indigestion, leftover pizza from work gone bad in his gut.

Only, sexier. Sexy indigestion. Mind-numbing, bafflingly-odd, hot-smutty indigestion.

Ok, so it wasn’t indigestion. But he was grasping at straws here to retain his sanity.

If he was losing his mind, at least he was losing it in a pretty place. There were worse fates, he supposed, than sitting on a rocky shore, enjoying the dramatic pulse of the vast velvet ocean as it crashed into the land. No hell-dimension could be this picturesque, could it? The sky glowed pink to the west out over the water, while above, it was already a deep midnight blue. There were few clouds and no smog here to amplify the rose-gold tone of the setting sun, so the sunset was contained to an intense yellow-orange disk and the soft colorful ripples it left behind in the sky.

Xander closed his eyes and breathed in the clean, ocean-salty air that blew as a cool breeze on his face.

No, definitely not a hell dimension.

A figure was picking its way down the beach towards him. It was this way every night, right on cue. The movements were graceful, and the pale skin of the man was a stark contrast to the rapidly falling night so that he seemed to glow. As he drew closer, Xander could see them, the things that made him suspicious that this was all the result of a crazy mushroom mix-up at work—someone had inadvertently switched out toppings for hallucinogens.

Because—Xander could see that the figure was Spike, and he could see that Spike…had wings.

So this couldn’t be an ordinary dream, right? Especially with what he knew, knew, was coming next.

You could tell, even from this distance, that Spike’s wings were nebulous things, even for a dream-state. Not solid. Mutable, like the rising tide, constantly shimmering and shifting shape before his eyes.

They were hypnotizing. They were the most beautiful thing that Xander had ever seen.

Spike must have known it, just as Spike was always aware of his physical assets, because as he came to a halt in front of Xander, the—vampire? angel? apparition?—preened them like the vain and cocky bastard that Xander knew that he was.

Still, fair enough, because Xander couldn’t take his eyes off them as they expanded up and outward, fluffing as though Spike were shaking the kinks out.

“You know, Xander,” Spike rumbled in the sex-voice he always used in Xander’s dreams, “This fantasy of yours is a touch predictable, mate. White Hat through and through—not enough that I’m neutered, you have to make me into a soddin’ celestial being just so’s you can feel right about takin’ my cock.” Xander was pulled into those blue eyes, the same deep color as the sky above, and Spike’s face was cool and sardonic, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. “Even your wet dreams are morally rigid.”

Xander licked his lips and swallowed, letting the taunt go—besides what would he say? Guilty as charged, this was bizarre—as he was distracted once again by Spike’s wings. The undefined edges were coalescing into sweeping, elegant lines, and Xander could make out the faint details of individual feathers as one wing curled around Spike’s body to insinuate itself at Xander’s shoulderblade.

At its contact with his skin, Xander shivered. It was as cool as Spike was, and water-soft, touching him but not as it reeled him in closer to the ropey muscle of Spike’s torso.

Spike’s wings were not feather-soft, fluffy, innocent things. They slunk, slithered, skulked, so that even as an angel there was something serpentine and sinister about him.

Spike’s hand cupped the back of Xander’s neck and drew him in closer for a forceful kiss, both wings wrapping him up in a cocoon of crackling, shimmering energy. Xander shuddered from the jolt from the wings and the human teeth sinking into his lip and the unfettered contact of their erections, because they were naked now, or always had been, something that made sense in a dream and nowhere else.

One wing was stroking seductively up and down Xander’s back, and Spike had wandering hands. He palmed Xander’s ass cheek with one, while the other plucked and teased at his nipple. Spike’s fingers were teasing into the crevice that parted his cheeks, and Spike was murmuring dirty hot words against Xander’s ear. Xander was shaky and weak-kneed. For Spike. In his dreams.

And then he cried out and his legs collapsed altogether, because Spike’s wing had curled even tighter around him and the feathery tip twined its way between their bodies until it found his cock. His aching, throbbing erection that was now enjoying the full benefit of that light electrical sizzle of the blessed—oh god please yes—appendages, while Spike’s happy human fingers were working themselves into his hole. The tip of Spike’s wing was doing a startlingly convincing impression of a hand, what with the curling and the grasping…and then Spike’s fingers curled into the magic spot inside.

Xander should have, by all counts, come on the spot. In fact, he felt the involuntary, prolonged spasm of his pelvis and the loss of all his faculties, but he didn’t shoot and he didn’t lose his erection. It seemed that dream-sex with an angel gifted Xander with strange dreamy multiple orgasms.

This might explain why he ended up here every night. Jesus, could you blame him?

Spike growled, and his wings flashed red for an instant. It always made Xander feel owned, that growl, and yup—still hard. Hard, harder, hardest, and Spike was pushing him to his knees, and what do you know, not hardest, because Spike won that contest.

The tide had come up far enough that Xander was kneeling in a swirling mass of shallow seawater, and Spike was looking down at him through the tunnel of his enfolded wings. Spike moaned and rolled his head back when Xander sucked the thick cock into his mouth. Xander was fairly certain the dream was accurate there—after all, sharing the basement with an exhibitionist vampire had revealed a thing or two. Spike was naked more than Xander—well, enough for Xander—ok, not nearly often enough for Xander to find satisfying, but he’d never admit it.

And Xander knew this was a dream, because Spike always loved the way he gave head even though he had no experience—lost his cool and muttered obscene things. His wings were fluttering a little as they encased him—straining at the shoulder joints with quick, jerky movements. And incandescent color was flashing and rippling over them like Mr. Bubble water on a sunny day.

Spike gasped and gripped Xander’s hair—even in his dreams, he needed a haircut—and ground himself against Xander’s lips, but it didn’t hurt, because this was just a dream. Then Spike withdrew and dropped to his own knees with a splash, and he was wrapped around Xander like a vine, pushing his tongue into Xander’s mouth against his groan. Spike’s hands were everywhere, everywhere good, and he was sucking on Xander’s neck, which gave his heart a jolt, because—yeah, dream here, and chipped, but still, vampire. He assumed. Didn’t know, actually, since Spike never went into gameface here on the beach.

But it felt so damn good, even with the danger, and Spike had his back arched at such an angle that he was helpless to stop it anyway. Xander could see nothing other than their bodies and the water rushing back and forth against their knees, because Spike’s wings were blocking out the world and Xander could swear that they were sparkling. They sparkled.

Spike never really talked when they were here, beyond a few cursory taunts and his filthy-hot exclamations, so when he turned Xander around and propped his upper body against the rocks in front of them, it was in silence. Which was good, because Xander couldn’t imagine anything coming out of Spike’s mouth other than invective, and that wouldn’t fit here. Because Spike’s hands were firm here, and even a little rough, but never cruel. It was always about pleasure, and never about humiliation.

That part came after Xander woke up.

But right now, Spike kneeled behind him, running firm, reverent touches over his back, and tilting Xander’s hips upward. His long elegant fingers worked themselves into Xander’s entrance, and they were slick and cool without the practicalities of popping open a tube, because it was a dream. God it was a really, really good dream and Xander could hardly keep his eyes open as he pushed himself back onto Spike’s fingers, moaning. He could hear Spike hiss, and then the dream got better because Spike was slick and sliding into him, filling him up just right.

And Spike didn’t stay kneeling upright like the porn stars did, the way he would expect Spike to take him—hard and rough and with as little contact as possible. No, because in these dreams sex was a full-contact sport, Boys and Girls, and Spike molded his body against Xander’s back. They fit together like a jigsaw, like fine craftsmanship. And Spike’s thrusts were so agonizingly slow and so deep, and tender, and


It felt like making love.

And Xander mostly shied away from that topic in his mind, because that was the craziest part about this whole thing. Crazier than the wings and the beach and the fact that he was dreaming about fucking Spike at all. It was a part of the dream that he would rather not examine too closely, because that way lay madness.

And it was just. too. good.

Spike bit at the skin between Xander’s shoulderblades, taking big hunks of flesh carefully between his teeth, and it made Xander shudder. Spike groaned and upped the tempo, the thrusts still slow, but they had a rhythm now and the momentum was enough to push Xander forward against the rocks in time. The rocks bit into the skin of his arms and chest, but didn’t hurt that much and Xander knew there would be no marks, no bruises. It was a dream—no consequences. In theory.

Xander could hear Spike’s wings rustling above them, and he wished he could see them, but this position was so good, the angle, and this way he could pretend that it’s just Spike. The real Spike. And Xander didn’t think about that one too hard either. But sometimes in the dreams, Spike took him on his back so that he could watch his wings move, and it was unexpectedly and totally hot. When Spike became excited, his wings were more active, changeable, shifting through shape and color combinations fluidly and flapping around them restlessly. Like his own personal psychedelic light show.

Spike was thrusting hard and fast now, moaning things like “Oh God, luv,” and “so good!” and Xander agreed wholeheartedly. Then Spike’s hand wrapped around Xander’s cock in the saltwater that was ebbing and flowing around them and it squeezed and pumped him and he was getting close again. Spike’s mouth played with ragged breath over his ear, chewing and sucking on his earlobe, and the wings above them were churning the air so hard that Xander swore they were going to take off, straight upwards like a helicopter.

“God yeah, Xan…love you, pet,” Spike groaned above him as he stiffened and came, wings going silent as they strained motionless over his head. Then Xander released too, with the same mind-numbing intensity as always, as much from the shock of the words as the hand pulling him off.


Xander woke with a jolt, sticky with sweat. And…sticky…elsewhere. He tried to ignore the indignity of the fact that he was regularly jizzing in his sleep like he hadn’t done since he was fourteen.

Because right now? he was busy freaking out about the last part of the dream. He wiped at his face desperately, clearing away some of the grime. That had never happened before, and he was way wigged that any part of his subconscious wanted Spike to say…that…to him. The dreams had been getting more and more emotionally intense, but…

He rubbed at his eyes. Fuck.


Wasn’t it bad enough before, when it was just hot, rutting sex? With an angel in the form of his arch-enemy? Jesus.

Xander didn’t want to sit up. As it was, he could feel those preternatural eyes on him in the dark of the basement, and he knew Spike could hear his heart pounding.

Because when the universe crapped on Xander Harris, it crapped on him good. Not enough that he was having sex dreams about Spike, but Spike had to be present and accounted for.

Stupid Giles.

But Xander really needed to clean himself up. He was disgusting. Really, his sheets were gross too, soaked through with sweat, but they’d have to wait until morning.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, gripping the edge and looking at the carpet between his feet, unwilling to look up yet at the blond tied to his barcalounger.

“Been havin’ the sex dreams about me again, eh whelp?” Spike’s voice rang out in the stuffy heat of the basement, loud and clear and obnoxious as ever.

Xander didn’t know how much Spike actually knew. He was sure Spike could smell his arousal and hear his elevated heart rate, and the vampire was always awake when Xander jolted out of sleep, but unless the Watcher’s Diaries were wrong, he had no mind-reading capability, so probably…

Unless Xander was moaning Spike’s name in his sleep. He really preferred not to think about that.

So he pretended that particular jibe was bullshit and bluffing. It was not unlikely, and it was easier that way, true or not. But Xander wondered if the hitch in his heartbeat when Spike taunted him gave him away. Probably. Because Xander Harris, was the universe’s latrine.

“Bite me, Bleach Boy,” he grumbled finally, standing up.

“Would that I could, mate,” Spike rejoined cheerily. In the strip of light coming from the bathroom, Xander could see that Spike’s gaze was heavy-lidded and smug, so maybe he did know. But no, Spike looked like that all the time. Always looked like sex on a stick. That’s why this was all his stupid hottie-McHotterson fault.

Xander swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth.

“Good thing for me you’re impotent then, huh?” Xander retorted.

Oh God, had he just said that? He’d meant…Gah! Retreat! Retreat! Xander padded quickly across the cement floor towards the safety of a lockable bathroom door.

Spike’s throaty, mocking laughter followed him, echoing out even after he slammed it safely behind him.

Part Two

Of Dreams and More Substantial Things

Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, wing!kink; erm, darkish? and funny? (is that a warning?) a teeny-weeny hint of D/s? if you squint? Too many question marks?
Summary: Xander’s dream is rudely interrupted.
Disclaimer: Joss could only hint at anything this fun. I just ran with it. and I am, alas, still poor. don’t sue me.
Feedback: please!
MIU was inspired by artwork by [info]mwrgana. She, and others, threatened to beat me with a big stick if there was no sequel, so…here we are.

Xander had thought the dreams would stop as he became increasingly, and mortifyingly, certain that Spike had a secret window into his brain. Because that’s what the looks and the smirks, and this afternoon’s wink meant, right? Spike had his number. His very naughty, kinky number. Shit.

But that would have been merciful, for the problem to evaporate, and his imagination was treacherous and mean. Cruel. Evil, even. Was it possible to have an evil brain, like some people had an evil hand? No, because he supposed that an evil brain would just make you evil evil, and….

Well anyway, of course, the dreams got worse. Actually, they got better. But that was worse, right?

For one, they took place in full daylight now. Xander had never really considered what Spike might look like in the sunlight. Well, publicly, he had fantasized about sunlight turning Spike into a giant re-creation of Moses’ burning bush, but—bygones.

He had never really considered the way Spike’s eyes would turn a new shade of blue, paler, clearer. Or the way the skin of Spike’s eyelids and forearms would seem almost translucent in the stronger light. The way his wings (on dream-Spike, anyway) would shine iridescent in the sun.

And was he really mooning over Spike’s physical attributes, imaginary or otherwise? Kill him. Kill him now.

And the other thing about the dreams was, they didn’t just fuck anymore.


The water was cold, but it felt good on their sunwarmed skin. Xander grinned and shouted taunting encouragements.

Spike laughed, his whole face lighting up with it, and lunged for Xander in the cold Pacific surf. Xander ducked out of the way just in time, and Spike went down in an uncharacteristically clumsy splash, wings extending with surprise above the surface, and Xander sloshed a wave of saltwater in his direction, so that he emerged sputtering and coughing and wiping water from his eyes.

“Bastard!” Spike laughed, and slogged through the water towards Xander menacingly, his sopping wings dragging behind. They slowed Spike down and gave Xander the advantage, and he darted away.

But he headed towards shore. Because, after all, the game was no fun unless Spike eventually caught him.

It happened when they emerged onto shore—a hundred and seventy pounds of cold, wet, enthusiastic man barreled into him sideways, knocking Xander over with mock surprise and a genuine ‘oof.’

Xander rolled over grinning. Spike had him caged down on the sand, wings sparkling gold with happiness over his head. Spike shook the dampness out of his feathers in three big jerky motions and seawater rained down on Xander. He was already soaking wet, but it was a bratty move, so he stuck his tongue out at Spike for good measure.

Spike took the gesture as an invitation to seize that tongue into his mouth, and Xander wasn’t correcting him. In fact, he was wholeheartedly encouraging the maneuver, wrapping his arms around Spike’s neck and rubbing his tan body up against the pale one. Spike growled in approval when Xander’s hand wrapped around Spike’s cock.

But Spike danced out of his grip, shimmied down Xander’s body, with a nip to his pec and a wicked dip into his navel that made Xander’s hips buck up eagerly under knowing eyes. When Spike’s mouth closed on Xander’s cock, it sent a wave of heat rolling through him, even though the wet, tight space of Spike’s mouth was as cool as the ocean they had just emerged from.

Xander watched Spike do wicked things to him with a wicked look, and he was overheated with lust. Spike smirked at him around his cock, wings rising in an erect V from his shoulderblades. They pulsed with dark color. Xander reached out and grasped the spiney ridge of their bone structure, the hard crest coated in soft, nebulous feathers that arched elegantly from Spike’s muscled back to where it bent at a joint before sweeping away. The length of the wings were folded tightly, rigidly, excitedly against Spike’s body. Xander stroked the length between shoulder joint and folding point, and Spike stiffened, closing his eyes and moaning deeply against Xander’s cock. Xander gasped at the vibration and did it again, shuddering at the near-snarl that sounded against his nerve endings.

That was positive reinforcement if there ever was such a thing. The feedback loop was painfully exquisite. As Xander’s fingers massaged rapidly over the top of Spike’s wings, Spike released his cock and began to shudder and thrust involuntarily down into the sand, head lolling onto Xander’s thigh, mouth gaping wantonly as his eyes twitched behind his eyelids. The dark pulsation in the wings punctuated itself with bright, flashing highlights. Blind with excitement, Spike sank blunt teeth into the flesh of Xander’s upper thigh, and Xander cried out and almost came. Spike’s eyes flew open, almost completely black from the center, and the soft, slack-jawed lust of his expression slid into a sharp, naughty grin that made Xander want him fasthardnow.

As if on cue from his thoughts, feathered wing tips insinuated themselves under Xander’s hips, raising them effortlessly and supporting their weight. Spike mouthed at the skin between Xander’s balls, nipping it hard enough to wring a yelp from him, and began to nudge the tip of one thumb against his opening. Xander bucked upwards further at the electrifying sensation, buoyed by the watery soft appendages.

The fat tip of Spike’s thumb pushed inside, and it burned and stretched Xander’s body in the strangest, newest way. It was incomprehensible. Xander formed the word ‘what’ but then cried out instead, jerking with pleasure as the knuckle of Spike’s thumb popped inside his sphincter. The thumb wiggled, and Spike was grinning at Xander wickedly as Xander thrust against it, gulping air.

Xander could feel Spike’s breath against his balls. “Fuuck, Harris…so fucking tight. Can’t wait to crawl inside.”

Something was strange about the exclamation, but Xander couldn’t focus. It was pleasure tinged with pain, or maybe pain tinged with pleasure, he really couldn’t tell. God, what was Spike doing to him this time? What was different? Xander undulated back against the intrusion, moaning at the ripple of sensation up his spine.

“Yeah that’s right, ride it. You love it. You’ll love my cock even better, when it’s stretching you open. I’m going to own this lovely arse, aren’t I?”

This wasn’t…this was strange, it wasn’t right. This wasn’t the way his Spike talked….

Suddenly Xander felt himself surfacing from the dream too rapidly, but the strange burning remained and Xander felt disoriented by the darkness of the room.

The darkness of the basement. The real life basement.

Spike—the real life Spike—was hovering over him, eyes shadowed in the dim light so that they appeared to be two black, indecipherable pits in his face. But the predatory grin sparkled bright as Xander sat up on his elbows, immediately whimpering at the twinge in his ass.

The twinge that was, actually, in real life, Spike’s thumb. Xander shut his eyes and tried not to move, panting with the feeling.

“Welcome back, pet,” Spike said in his real life sex voice, deep and rumbly with desire. “So glad you could join us.”

Spike wiggled his thumb again (in real life), and Xander grunted and jerked his hips up against the movement.

“What…you…how did you…Fuck.”

Spike…Spike…the real Spike…Oh God.

Spike chuckled, and it gave Xander the shivers—it was darker, less mirthful than his own dream-Spike’s laughter. “That’s the idea, Harris.” The thumb withdrew with an electrifying pop, and fingers returned that were cool and slippery. It occurred to Xander that Spike, real life Spike, had come pre-stocked with lube for the occasion. Which implied that Spike had actually planned this….

That was as far as Xander got on that idea, because the new slick invasion was a clever tactic that circumvented pain, and made his hips do interesting tactical maneuvers of their own. Not evasive. Interagency cooperation. Xander was joe-army and Spike was…black ops.

Oh fuck! Prostate! We have friendly fire! Verrry friendly. It was—

Xander moaned wildly and fucked himself back onto the source of the sensation, the burning and stretching completely eclipsed by pleasure. Pleasure wasn’t even the word, it was…. It was like nothing he’d ever felt in his dreams. Because it was like nothing he’d ever felt ever. Sweet mother of—

“Yeah, that’s it, show me what a good little slut you are. Gonna give you a right seein’ to, even better than those dreams you’ve been drivin’ me starkers with, moaning and crying out and coming in your sleep. Smelled heavenly. Think I’ve finally found what you’re good for, Harris, but I’m keeping this particular use to myself, yeah?”

The voice was merely an incomprehensible buzz under the goodness that was Spike’s fingers in his ass. God, did he just say that? Laughter bubbled up hysterically through the porno track that was spilling from his mouth. Spike looked at him strangely, but he didn’t understand that so many fingers clearly didn’t leave much room for sane normal Xandery thoughts.

That hypothesis was solidly disproven when Spike’s fingers left his ass and the extent of Xander’s Xandery thoughts were: no! wait! more! come back! which were definitely not sane or normal.

Suddenly Spike was looming over him and something solid and blunt was pressing shockingly against his wide-open opening. Xander looked down between the planes of their bodies to see Spike’s cock there, butting against him. Ohgod. Anticipation and fear and hotflashy feelings zinged up Xander’s spine in time with Spike’s movement as he just rocked against the ring of muscle.

Xander’s eyes flew back up to Spike’s, which were fixed intently on his face in a predatory expression. Xander opened his mouth, but nothing intelligent came out.

Spike inhaled deeply, eyes drooping in pleasure. “Fuck, you smell delicious. They could bottle sexual confusion and sell it at the fragrance counter. All…scared and lusty.”

Without warning, Spike pushed rapidly forward, and the invasion was big and unexpected and a little scary. But not painful, precisely, which Xander realized later was in Spike’s best interest, really. But it was also good. Did he mention good? Good in a way that you knew should not feel good, but somehow did. Xander’s hands scrambled for something solid to cling to as Spike slid further into his body than he thought humanly possible. Humanly possible. Heheh. Ha! Hahahah!

Spike growled. “Not polite to laugh when another man’s cock is up your arse, Harris.”

Spike swiveled his hips in a short thrust that clearly removed all possibility of laughter, since Xander’s vocal cords were too busy moaning. Spike pushed Xander’s knees higher against his chest and repeated the maneuver.

Prostate, meet cock. He’s even friendlier than finger.

“Ohh God, Spike, please.”

Ouch, that was going to come back to haunt him tomorrow.

Spike was smug and heavy-lidded. “Much better.”

Without further ado, Spike began to pound into Xander, fast and hard and deep. Xander couldn’t hold back the begging, moaning, dying noises that overlayed the rapid squeaking of the old mattress springs. Spike’s eyes were shut, head tipped so that his adam’s apple caught the streetlight through the small window prominently. His face was soft and slack-jawed, just like the dream, and it was funny but Xander didn’t laugh. Too busy crying out Spike’s name as Spike drove into him ruthlessly, body held apart except where he was inside.

Spike’s eyes slid open, and he smiled drunkenly. “Bugger. Should have done this weeks ago,” he panted, and the bed began to bang into the wall with his increased enthusiasm.

And this was nothing—one more time for the folks in the cheap seats?—noth-ing like his fantasy, because Spike was hard and unyielding and rough where he should be tender. Distant and blasphemous where he should have been intimate and reverent.

But really, Xander was having an awful time mustering up complaints, because holy mother of god, who needed tender when he had this? This…force of nature moving over him, inside of him, with Spike’s eyes glowing the color of molten lava and Xander’s brains leaking out his ears.

Spike began to nuzzle at Xander’s throat in gameface, and this time there was no ambiguity about what kind of creature was inside of him, because chip or no, Spike was no angel.

He was tasting Xander the way you check pasta to see if it’s cooked: softly with the tongue, noncommittal. And then there were teeth sinking in along the raised cords of his neck, and Xander jerked fitfully, and wasn’t it funny that the thing that flashed before his eyes before he died in orgasmic bliss, drained by a creature they’d labeled harmless, was all the clearly dangerous demons that had nearly killed him over the years and failed. A sort of “Zeppo: This is Your Life.”

But as Xander felt the orgasm rip through him, he realized that they were human teeth…they were human teeth…no death today but the little French one.


When Xander came to, he sort of wished he had died, after all. Spike was hovering over him, looking woozy and amused. Xander felt squishy where they were still joined and realized he’d missed Spike’s come-face altogether.

Spike was looking at him intently, lazily, head tilted to the side. A not-cruel smile tipped one half of his face into something charming. Xander almost wondered at the sudden change in mood, but that required energy and Spike had always been a moody bastard.

“You alright, mate? Got a steady heartbeat, I know, but any lasting brain-damage?” The question could have been curiosity or fun at his expense. Not genuine concern, but Xander wasn’t offended. Why would Spike be concerned about him?

Xander contemplated the health of his brain for a moment with closed eyes. “No brain damage I haven’t had from birth,” he concluded.

Spike laughed and flopped over on his back, making the old mattress bounce. “Quite right. Thought I’d fucked you to death for a minute there.” Spike didn’t sound repentent so much as amused and braggardly.

Xander could feel his whole face flare hot. “Well, you…. Um…What happened to me?” When Spike leaned up on his elbow and gave him a lascivious sneer, Xander held up his hand to stop whatever evil thing was about to come out of his mouth. “No, I mean, did I pass out?”

Spike settled back on the bed and smirked. “Yeah, never seen anything like it. I gave you a friendly nibble and you just went berserk, and then you turned gray-like, eyes rollin’ back. Thought you were havin’ a seizure or some shite, till about a gallon of spunk shot out of your prick and hit you in the face.”

Horrified, Xander scrubbed at the face in question to find, as usual, that Spike was full of shit.

“Good thing I’m not the queasy type or it would have kept me from gettin’ my end away.”

Xander glared at the man—vampire—beside him in the bed. “Sorry if my terror-induced fainting ruined the mood for you,” he spat out.

Nonplussed, Spike just wiggled his eyebrows. “Didn’t smell like terror to me, you know. Not completely.”

Xander groaned and covered his face. “Kill me now. No, really this time. Strike me dead. I don’t want to live in a world where William the Bloody knows what I smell like when I come.”

“Knew that long before tonight, thanks to those nasty dreams of yours. Anyway, ‘fraid killin’ you isn’t the offer on the table here, mate.”

Xander peeked out from under his arm cautiously. Spike stared back at him, calmly self-satisfied and still oh-so-naked. At that thought, Xander snatched the sheets up to his chest, and Spike laughed at him.

“There’s an offer? I see no offer. We don’t want an offer. There is no table.”

Spike’s eyes flickered down to his cock, which was stirring in a valiant, though misinformed, attempt to rally under the sheet. “Right,” he drawled.

Xander blushed. He wondered if Spike could smell that, or see it in the dark. He never did find out what exactly Spike knew about his sex dreams….

“Right, well, the offer is, you let me bugger you into the mattress when I want, how I want, and I won’t tell all your little friends that you drove me mad enough to put my cock in you by moaning my name every night till you came in your pants.”

Well. That was one mystery solved.

The first part of Spike’s ‘offer’ caught up with him.

“Wait. Woah. Woah woah woah. This is not…I’m not…I’m not your sex doll, Spike.” Xander pretended his voice didn’t squeak. “You’re not just going to…. No. No way. Nuh-uh.”

Spike looked unperturbed, studying his fingernail. He shrugged. “Ok, suit yourself. This might give poor old Rupert a heart attack, though. Man’s not built the way he used to be, you know. And Buffy, I can just see her now, gettin’ all fish-faced and bright red when I tell her how you begged for it….”

Goddamnit. He knew that was going to bite him in the ass.

“You won’t tell them anything, because I’m going to tie you to the chair and gag you and leave you there.”

Spike gave him a patronizing look and nodded towards the barcalounger. The shredded remains of the heavy-gauge rope coiled impotently against the floor.


“Mmm, oh. You know, I can’t hurt you,” Spike purred in his ear. A finger lightly zipped along Xander’s cock through the sheet, and Xander’s head snapped back around to Spike, whose eyes were too close. “If you ask real pretty, I’ll even make you feel good.”

Xander’s eyes glazed over as Spike began to rub him through the rough cotton of the low thread-count.

“Come on, you know you want it.”

Important thing to note: the US justice system might not accept confessions made under physical duress as admissible, but Spike had no such compunctions.

The End

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