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Cicirossi
Joss Whedon is God and owns all. It's still his world, although we like to sneak in the side door and cover Xander with chocolate sauce and whipped cream when no one's looking.
After Willow left, Xander tried to concentrate on his list of who, what, why and how. He really did. But every time he set pen to page it came back to Spike. Met Spike at adult bookstore. Watched movies with Spike. Put hand on Spike's...ack. The whole mess could be laid firmly at Spike's door, now that he thought about it. That son of a bitch. It had to be something Spike did. Why else would Xander be acting so completely out of character?
God, he was hungry. Xander gave up on his Willow assignment and went to the refrigerator, draping himself over the open door and peering at the contents. Animal, vegetable, fruit. Ah! Score. Leftover pizza. "Come to papa, baby," Xander crooned, and tore open the Ziploc bag. Fragrant pepperoni and sweet red peppers. It was heaven. It was still fresh. It was making his stomach turn over.
Gagging, Xander threw the bag back into the fridge and slammed the door. That was the last straw. No way was he going to let Spike come between him and one of the great loves of his life! Time to march his ass over to Spike's crypt and demand an explanation. After beating him up.
Too bad he couldn't bust the door down like Buffy always did. But it made a satisfying crash as it bounced against the far wall. Well, it would have been satisfying if Spike had even glanced up from his magazine. He didn't even flinch.
"You know, once in awhile you could sop my ego and pretend that I intimidate you."
Without turning to look at him, Spike replied in a glass shattering falsetto. "Oh, my! What am I to do? It's the great and powerful Xander."
Okay, obviously Spike wasn't treating this with the grave seriousness it deserved. No pun intended. Stomping around to stand in front of Spike, Xander crossed his arms over his chest and assumed his best 'no more butt monkey' stance. "What did you do to me?"
Finally, Spike looked up at him. "What?"
"Last night. What did you do to me?"
Gifting Xander with a cream-licking cat smile, Spike replied, "I should think that would be obvious, pet."
"So not funny. I mean, what did you do to me to make me do, you know, that."
"You're saying you didn't want to? Didn't enjoy it? Because I've got to tell you, I don't think I've ever had anybody pass right out on me before."
The smug tone, coupled with a lewd once over proved too much for Xander, and he lunged. He'd have to work on telegraphing his punches, because Spike was ready for him. Or at least that's what he figured happened. One minute he was swinging like a rusty gate, the next he was tumbling into Spike's chair to land on Spike's lap. To make it all worse, Spike was laughing at him. Made Xander want to squash him like a bug. Which he would do. As soon as he got up.
The problem with getting up was that it felt really good where he was. Really, really good. In fact, it felt so good that Xander tried to get closer instead of further away, and Spike was suddenly very serious and then they were kissing. Their mouths met so hard that their teeth clacked, and Xander had that same desperate surge of lust he'd experienced the night before. His whole lower body throbbed, and he squirmed around until he straddled Spike's legs, so he could rub the aching bulge at his crotch against the answering one in Spike's tight jeans.
"Oof." All of the air left Xander's lungs when Spike suddenly stood, heaving them both up and out of the chair. Holding on was about his only option, and he did, clinging like Handi-wrap as they blundered across the room and landed hard on the bed. Double oof. Behind his closed eyelids, Xander saw the same little sparklies that he did when he watched fireworks. He wasn't quite sure if it was lack of air or the way he'd landed. Or maybe it was just the way Spike kissed. Hard kisses that rubbed his lips almost raw, and it felt so good, because he didn't have to worry about being too rough or if his stubble was scratchy, because Spike gave as good as he got. So good that he might just explode from it, long before any part of him still in clothes reached the open air. On top of him now, Spike rubbed and nipped and licked and did his best imitation of a bleachy whirlwind. Xander wanted to touch and taste and do all those things too, but it was so hard to concentrate with Spike sucking up a love mark on his neck.
Whimpering, thrashing, Xander scrabbled at Spike's duster until he got the picture and pulled back. "What?"
"Off." Spike looked affronted until Xander plucked at his shirt and belt, "Off! Now."
"Oh. Right." Up on his knees now, stripping off one piece of clothing after another and Xander just looked and looked. How weird was it that he thought Spike was beautiful. No pillowy breasts, no soft belly, no rounded hips. But god, look at those cut muscles. Who knew that was under there? And who knew it would make him hard enough to pound nails?
Seemed it was the same for Spike because he started on Xander's clothes when he was done with his own, and he stared at what he'd uncovered like it was quite a prize. "Hell, pet. Where do you put all of this during the day?"
"I, oh, what?" Was there a question? Xander couldn't remember, helpless under the feel of bare skin against his. Such soft skin. Weren't guys supposed to have rough skin? He did, rough from working out in the sun and wind, but Spike, oh God his skin was like milk. Cool and white and it just poured over him until Xander was sure he would scald it with his own heat. And Spike had nipples. Well, okay, all guys had nipples, he had them too, but he never expected be fascinated by them. The way they felt against his palms, they way they turned into little points that made him want to pull and twist.
Then there was the other part of Spike, the lower part, the one he'd touched last night. There, right there, cradled in the hollow of his hip right next to his own. Just like before they rubbed together, and the friction was unbearable. Last time it had been so fast, too fast for him to really understand how different this was, but he got it now. Then Spike put a hand down between them, gathering both cocks together and pumping in time to the wild thrust of their hips and Xander just went with it. Utterly lost.
There were words, but Xander didn't hear them, or if he did they had no meaning. The whole world narrowed down to the feel of Spike's hands on him, and Spike's tongue in his mouth and his own hands on Spike's hipbones or spine or ass. Rocking together in this urgent rhythm and neither of them stopped to question why or how, and then Xander was just exploding, absolutely losing it, painting stripes of himself on Spike's belly and thighs. Spike's face twitched, that was the only way to describe it, and Spike howled, and then Xander was the canvas.
Panting and gasping, they lay there cooling into a sticky mess, but Xander couldn't move. Didn't want to. And with the thought that Spike must surely have some sort of demonic hold on him, Xander finally fell asleep.
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