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href="non90.html">90Sajinn
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.
Happy Birthday, Jimmy Hoffa & St. Valentine.
"So, Spike..." Xander began, watching the vampire right his clothing. "What do you want for Valentine's Day?"
Spike frowned and reached for a boot, trying to shake off his post-shag sleepiness. "Val...Xander, I don't want a bloody thing for Valentine's Day." Vampires didn't celebrate Valentine's Day; the very idea was ludicrous.
"Flowers? Candy? A teddy bear? Silk? Diamonds? Chocolate? Wine? Roses?" Xander rattled off, as though the blonde hadn't spoken.
"I said--"
"Godiva? Can I get that here? Maybe gold or silver. You're not a werewolf, so that won't matter. A card? A book?" The young man paced the small bathroom, a thoughtful frown on his face.
Spike growled, eyes crossing. The sun was rising and he needed sleep very badly. "Nothing, Xan..."
Xander stopped, his expression smoothing over. "Well, that's a relief," He said, nodding. "Come on, let's get you to bed."
The lovers quickly made their way back to the train, where Xander gently stripped Spike down and bundled him into bed. The vampire reached for his warm, comfortable bed-warmer, but Xander claimed starvation and went off in search of breakfast, leaving Spike asleep in the bunk.
•••
Spike sighed in his sleep, turning his head to nestle deeper into his pillow. He was loathe to wake, since his dreams were so very pleasant. The night was full and heavy, blood and roses drenching the dark air with twin, heady perfumes. All around him a silky breeze gathered, brushing against his skin like so many fallen petals. Xander was with him; he could sense the youth's arousal as a sharp finishing note to midnight's bouquet.
He turned to find his boy, only to realize that he couldn't move. A frown marred the blonde's face as he struggled, tensing his arms and legs. Confused and furious yellow eyes snapped open--
And immediately faded to clear blue. Xander was standing over him, smirking madly. Dark eyes shone hotly from underneath sooty lashes made darker by flickering candlelight. A quick glance gave Spike the answers he'd been seeking.
He was bound. Xander had cuffed his ankles and wrists whilst he slept, tying the vampire down onto the bed. The sheets were gone, replaced by literally thousands of rose petals. Velvety rounds in every conceivable color blanketed him, rustling with every tiny movement.
How thoughtful. Xander got him flowers for Valentine's Day. Flowers and leather. He really was going to have to inquire about the boy's resourcefulness.
Xander reached for Spike, crushing rose petals as he curled hot fingers around the vampire's erection. His lover's gasp was silenced by warm lips, followed by a careful and wet tongue.
The intoxicating perfume of roses was highlighted by the sharper scent of broken flowers as Spike arched into Xander's hand. The vampire could do little but thrust his hips in time to the young man's motions, growling and groaning into their kiss. His body had been thrust from sleep to alarm to arousal so quickly that he wasn't sure if he was going to fall asleep, shift into gameface, or come. It seemed as though his body itself couldn’t make up its mind, drifting aimlessly from languid relaxation to bone-crushing tension.
Xander tightened his hand, dragging blunt fingernails over the glans of Spike's cock. His other hand threaded through Spike's hair, holding the blonde still while Xander ravished him. Spike had little choice but to take it as Xander fucked his mouth with cruel force, cutting both of their tongues on descending fangs. Blood trickled down his throat, eliciting even more hisses and whines. Xander ignored them in favor of further tortures, however.
Spike cried out when Xander released his flesh. He'd been so close, driven there by the boy's unerring touch and the caress of ten thousand roses upon his sensitive skin. Each one was like his lover's fingertips, barely touching but always with love. The vampire's aching cry turned to triumphant wailing when Xander's hand returned, warm and slick with oil. That was all Spike needed; with a sigh and a shudder, he let go and allowed oblivion to wash over him.
Xander drew Spike's tongue into his mouth as two of his fingers slid inside the vampire's tight opening. All it took was one glancing touch of the blonde's prostate and Spike was coming, every muscle tensed. A high, soft cry echoed through the room, reminding Xander of their limited privacy.
"Fifty-eight," He whispered, fingers still stretching Spike.
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