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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.
Xander watched with morbid fascination as the two guys on screen got really, really busy. Okay, he thought, let's break this down into tiny thoughts, so I can process it. Spike rented a gay porn video. No, worse. I rented it for Spike without looking at it. And now I'm looking at it. And that looks like it has to hurt. Or maybe not. Okay, even hornier than I thought, because, look, wood. Xander spared a glance at Spike out of the corner of his eye, and his inner dialog hit the brakes. Hard.
Because Spike was. Hard. The outline of his cock was clearly visible through his jeans. Ignoring Xander completely now, Spike watched the action through half-closed eyes, one hand kneading his thigh. Xander had no doubt that Spike would start rubbing something else any minute. How did he get himself into these situations? And why did the thought of Spike jacking off make Xander want to crawl over there and help him?
With a loud yelp, Xander shot up off the couch and made a run for the kitchen. "Going to get more food," he hollered, hoping that Spike would be far too engrossed in his viewing, er, pleasure, to even notice he was gone. Pacing around the kitchen, willing his dick to go down, Xander wondered what the hell had gotten into him. That was Spike. Not only was Spike a guy, but well, it was Spike. Watching a porn movie. Rubbing himself. That should produce disgust and contempt, not fiery blushes and sweaty palms.
Must calm down, Xander thought. Casting about wildly for a distraction, he spotted the Chocolate Hurricane he'd pulled out of the freezer earlier. Yes! That would do it. Chocolate frenzy. He ripped the wrapper off the bar and ate it in three bites. The sweet flavor took over his entire body for a few minutes, settling him down considerably, and he was able to breathe again.
Right. It was just Spike. He was just horny and desperate. No big deal. He'd go back out there, and there would be no problem. With one last deep, chocolate scented breath, Xander walked back into his living room. To see Spike sprawled out on the couch, feet planted widely apart on the floor. His jeans were open and he was holding his cock in his hand, stroking in time to the moans and groans coming from the TV. All of Xander's blood rushed out of his head, heading south. Oh god. He thought he might just pass out.
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