Xander struggled and turned his head to the side. “Wha...” It was his statue, in the flesh. A bit on the pale side, and he’d imagined the hair to be dark, not that... that shade of bleach. “Hey... Mmmph.”
Help... he was being assaulted by his statue... his very alive, very hot, very forceful statue. As he tried to protest, a velvety tongue delved past his teeth and into his mouth. Suddenly, his head started to swim... he couldn’t think straight... not when he was trying to avoid... catch... no avoid that tongue!
The former statue’s hands started to roam over his stomach... under his shirt... oh God... the pads of his fingers were tracing every indentation of Xander’s body, just as carefully as he’d carved the muscles on the statue. As the guy started to turn him, Xander came to his senses and pushed him away... stepping back at the same time.
He took a few deep breaths, staring at the piercing blue eyes, the cheek bones he’d been meaning to round down a bit, the angular chin... and lower... at corded muscles clearly visible through the sheerest tee shirt ever. Mouth dry, he dragged his gaze back up. “Who are you?”
“Spike’ll do. It’s what you called me when you were working on my hair.”
“Um... no, that would have been Spikey...”
Spike raised an eyebrow. “Call me what you like. You did summon me, yeah? So let’s get on with it.”
“With it... what it... what... no!” Xander stopped Spike from pulling his shirt off over his head, but not before he got an eyeful of rippling muscles and a narrow waist.
“No? Why not?” Spike cocked his head. “Ah. Want me to undress you.” Immediately, he reached for Xander’s jeans and started to unzip, until the artist batted his hands away.
Puzzled, he looked at Xander.
“I... I ... I don’t... you know, not with guys...”
Spike’s eyebrow went up again.
“Well... at least when no alcohol’s involved,” he added defensively.