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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.
Sometime around five in the morning, Xander woke up. In his bed. Warm and toasty and safe, covered with his own quilt, with no vampires in sight. Wow, that was one heck of a dream. His subconscious was known for doing funny things, but he'd never even thought of Spike, well, that way before. Wide awake, Xander decided not to go back to sleep for just an hour, and got up to get ready to go to work. Maybe he could get some extra paperwork done before the crew came in.
Showered, shaved, and probably way too energetic for the small amount of sleep he'd gotten, Xander wandered out into the main rooms of the apartment in search of breakfast. And stopped dead. So to speak. On the Hellmouth you always qualified statements like that lest you offend someone who really was. Dead. Like Spike. Who was not actually there, but all the evidence pointed to the fact that he had been.
The popcorn bowl was still on the floor next to the couch, as was a pile of empty beer bottles. An ashtray, one that Xander kept just for certain uncles, was on the coffee table, full of butts. The whole room smelled of smoke and sex. Sex. There was a washcloth drying all stiff and crumpled on the couch, and Xander didn't even want to contemplate what was on it.
He stood there, body stock-still while his brain did little ice skating school figures. Spike. Sex. Well, hand-body-penis contact anyway. Oh. God. Distantly, Xander could hear the buzzing in his ears, and he knew he was shaking, but he was too far away to do anything about it. What finally jolted him back to awareness was the feeling of his teeth clacking against frozen chocolate. He stood by the freezer, gnawing on a fresh out of the icebox Chocolate Hurricane. Oh yes, that was much better.
The little synapses in his brain fired up again thanks to the cocoa gods, and he started thinking about things more rationally. It wasn't so bad, was it? Not like he'd encouraged Spike really. They had both been horny, maybe even a little desperate, and Xander could blame it on a chocolate high that could have killed an elephant. Yeah. And then, Spike was gone, wasn't he? So he probably didn't want to think about it, either. Or even admit to it. Uncharacteristically nice of Spike as it was to drag Xander to bed and tuck him in, Xander didn't think he'd have to worry about the bleached menace getting all gooshy on him. Well, not that way. Gushy maybe, like he'd been last night when he came...
Nope, nope, not going to think of that. Or of the way Spike had tasted on his hand when he'd licked it. No, no, no. So it had felt good. So what? It had been awhile since any hand but his own hand ventured south of the border, was all. Really. Okay, starting to panic again. Xander contemplated having another chocolate bar, but a quick check showed that he only had four left. So he would wait. Calling in sick seemed like a really good idea, though, and maybe trying to go and have a talk with Willow. If anyone would understand this whole suddenly wanting to see how the other half lived, she would.
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