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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, Sajinn.
Xander and Spike glided through the cramped corridors of the ship with the grace and agility of drunken swallows. Their fellow passengers couldn't tell if the men were sick, stoned or sleepy--but everyone got out of the way of the blue-eyed man with the hunter's face.
They got back to their cabin without incident, slipping through the barely-opened door like thieves stealing inside. Spike crossed to the far side of the room, leaning against the wall. From there he could watch every move Xander made. The vampire couldn't help but stare; Xander held a beauty as immortal as Spike's own demon. Skin that would never pale, eyes forever warm and liquid. Spike was fascinated by Xander's warmth--not simply the obvious human presence of the boy, but the way that vibrant, living heat radiated from Xander's personality. This was a man, Spike knew, who would never be frozen. No matter what a cruel universe thrust at Xander, he would never know the frigid harshness that permeated Spike's own existence.
Xander stalked over to where Spike was standing, drawn by the intensity he saw in the vampire's eyes. He felt stripped naked, his armor obliterated by this creature in front of him. How did Spike do that, unmake him so easily? Xander stopped just in front of the blonde, almost-but-not-quite touching his lover. He wanted to reach out, to tear away the thin cotton that separated him from alabaster flesh. Wanted, but did not take...
Spike watched avidly as Xander came to him, drawn willingly along a thread of desire. The vampire's own excitement heightened when he saw the ever-present warmth that was Xander heighten into a blazing flame of lust. He could almost feel Xander's hands on him, heat and strong fingers tugging and pulling at his clothes. There was an order, not quite whispered, underneath the silent intensity of Xander's gaze. "Show me your body," It said, breathless words flying by his mind, "There is no one but us and I want to see you."
Xander followed the slippery progression of dark fabric as Spike removed his shirt, waiting until the garment landed softly on the floor before taking in what was presented to him. A sculpture in liquid marble, coolly heated by the vampire's eternal will to exist. Xander wanted more, needed to see Spike in his entirety. A classical masterpiece was his lover, and no Michelangelo wore Levi-Strauss denim.
Blue eyes never left brown as Spike lifted first one ankle and then the other, unlacing boots and kicking them off. Once bare feet were perched on threadbare carpet, he began to worm his way out of too-tight jeans, lifting his hips sinuously. Xander stood too still, unmoving as no human should ever be. Spike loved watching Xander move, to see his playful warmth in action, flowing like laughter given form.
Xander wondered if Spike had been born of some artist's creative mind, and then walked away when no one was looking. The human was so engrossed in taking in the sight of his lover that he almost missed the hunger in Spike's own eyes. Nakedness was most striking in solitude, and Spike hated being alone. Xander acquiesced, feeling the demon's eyes covering him as he removed his coverings. This was no striptease; shirt, shoes and the like were removed with utilitarian efficiency. Xander could tell that this wasn't about seduction--they had long since seduced each other so completely that there was nowhere else to go with that pretense.
Spike wished he could see the heat rising from Xander the way he felt it. Surely the boy was surrounded by a glowing halo of light; how could he not? The blonde felt it in waves as Xander stepped closer to him, drawn like a magnet. North and south became human and demon, forces brought together despite any effort to the contrary.
Then he stopped.
Xander braced himself on his hands, leaning over the smaller vampire. Mere centimeters separated them; the air that skated between their bodies was charged. Their bodies wanted to meet but could not, held back by suddenly steely self control. Spike settled flat against the wall, basking in the presence of this human. Xander's scent spread like fine perfume, obliterating the odors of stale sheets and staler food. The annoying hum of a living ship died away, leaving only a man and his demon.
Brown eyes met blue once again, words flickering between them without disturbing the noise of silence they'd created. "Touch me," Spike's skin pleaded, craving his lover with a hunger only demons could know. He was unbearably aroused, nerves singing and crying out. A single touch would suffice. Just one touch...
"When am I not touching you?" Xander's eyes replied, casually stroking Spike's fair skin with their gaze. "When are we apart?" He could feel Spike everywhere, touching but not touching. Xander's cock ached for his lover, his hands itched with the need to touch, his lips begged him to taste. His soul, however, was sated, for that part of Xander never stopped holding Spike close.
Spike's eyes flashed, yellow filtering through blue. "We are seraphim in a charnel house," They cried, "It is that light in our darkness that draws us near to each other. Draw me near, lover, for only your feathered wings may shield me."
"Surely you can feel me, for I am now where I always reside," Xander's heart whispered, "Or have you cast me out of your mind and spirit, to flounder in a world empty of you?"
Spike's demon blinked, realizing that the warm light that was wrapped around its mottled form was Xander. That illumination had settled in with the boy's presence and the demon never realized its significance. Sharp, keening happiness raced through Spike's form, releasing tensed muscles and frozen limbs. Relief triggered pleasure in a wash of surety and acceptance that Xander could actually see as it rippled across Spike's pale face.
The striking, fluid contact of Spike's orgasm called forth Xander's, though the young man somehow managed to maintain the distance between them throughout his own soul-shaking release. Never once did their eyes waver, even when both men were gasping for needed(unneeded) air and wondering if they would soon awaken alone, undone by this dream.
Seventy-Two
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