Night Of Nights

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Night of Nights

Sajinn

No, they aren’t mine. I wish they were, but they aren’t. They belong to their creators. No money is being made. I just take them out, put them in pretty dresses, and make them fight each other. No harm, no foul. Feed the writer. Review.

The Thirty-Third

Happy Birthday, Sinead O'Connor and James Thurber.

"Ever notice how our lives revolve around the Magic Box?" Xander asked as he and Spike strolled towards the store. "I mean, it's yet another night of doing whatever Giles tell us to."

"'M not cleaning again," Spike grumbled. He suffered through spending his nights in the Slayer's disgusting presence, so that he could have a little more time with his boy, but he was not going to be the Watcher's scullery maid.

Xander didn't expect that they would be doing such mundane tasks, since Giles had taken the time to call him and ask that the boy attend their research night. Still, when they arrived the Watcher shot Xander an annoyed glance and waved him off towards the training room. "If you would be so kind, Xander, as to clean the weaponry. And Spike, since you have been so gracious as to appear uninvited, feel free to join him."

Xander's jaw dropped. He'd been called in to polish swords? "Uh, you didn't need me for anything?" He asked, voice far calmer than he felt.

Giles looked up at the young man. "There was a minor crisis earlier, but Buffy and Willow are taking care of it. However, the armory is in truly disgusting condition." A pointed stare told Xander that if he was going to stick around, it was going to be in the training room, wielding rags and cleaner.

Xander silently trudged back to the training room. Spike wandered around the shop for a minute or two, until Giles demanded that he either go back with Xander or leave. The vampire hid his smirk with a rude gesture and trotted off to find his boy.

"Here," Xander muttered, thrusting a scimitar at Spike. "I think that one will burn my skin off if I touch it."

Spike caught the weapon and grabbed up a handful of rags. "You owe me, Xander." He was not enjoying the idea of spending the evening doing what he'd said he would not do--clean for Giles.

"I know," Xander murmured. He felt bad for dragging his lover out so they could scrape demon blood off weapons Buffy hadn't bothered cleaning herself. Spike well and truly hated the Scoobies, and Xander couldn't blame him. Buffy and the others treated the vampire like shit, belittled him, and were generally assholes where he was concerned. Then again, they weren't exactly nice to him, but that was to be expected. He was doughnut boy.

Spike foisted a dagger over onto a nearby table and stretched. He'd been scraping bile off blades for several hours and was nearly bored enough to strike up a conversation with her Slayerness. That meant, of course, that it was past time for him to throw Xander down onto the floor mats and fuck him blind.

"Hey!" Xander yelped as he suddenly found himself lifted off his chair, knife and cleaning rag taken away. The world did a neat, twisty thing and then he was on his back, sliding along cool training mats. Naked. "Where are my clothes?" He asked Spike, wondering how the vampire had gotten them off that quickly.

An equally naked vampire joined him on the floor. "Heavy bag," Spike murmured, letting his body drag along Xander's. "Why? You need them or something?"

Xander shuddered, bucking up against Spike as their cocks met and slid against each other. A quick look to one side told him that yes indeed, his clothes were draped over the heavy bag--as were Spike's. "You know that if Giles comes in here, you're so gonna be dust."

"Then we'll make sure he's got no reason to come back here, hmm?" Spike said, grinding himself down onto Xander. Slick, soft-hard skin and muscle called to him, begging for another moment to stretch out this sensuous contact.

Xander considered protesting, but soon decided that it was a far better idea to just go with the flow. Besides, Spike was flooding his senses. The taste of his lover as they kissed, teeth nipping. The feel of that unnaturally smooth, porcelain skin as it taunted and seduced. The blood, smoke, and violence that was the vampire's cologne. It was far too easy for the boy to lose himself in this all-consuming desire.

Spike pressed his face into Xander's throat as he rode the boy, letting the hard, rapid thrum of the human's heartbeat drive him on. He was addicted to the sound of Xander's blood rushing through beloved veins and knew that he could follow his sweet boy by his heartbeat alone, even through a crowd of people. The rhythm was tattooed somewhere deep inside his demon, where his soul would've been had he still had it.

When Xander began to whimper and moan, control lost to the inescapable demands of clawing release, Spike brought their lips back together. He reverently swallowed those cries, taking them in even as he shouted his own climax into his lovely boy's throat.

Xander was roused by the feel of soft fabric on his torso. Spike was cleaning them up with brisk efficiency, removing all traces of their extracurricular activities. "Thirty-three," Xander remarked, thumping Spike on the ass with his foot as he stood up. "And I'm guessing Giles didn't hear us."

Spike looked down at himself. "Seeing as how I'm not dust, I tend to agree."

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