Night Of Nights

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href="non90.html">90

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 Ninetieth

Happy Birthday, Adsum. Warning: Very bad (bloody awful) poetry herein.

"He's still staring at me."

Xander glanced between Spike and the pixiesh face peeking between the seats in front of them. "He'll get bored or fall asleep soon. I mean, he has to, right?" Xander said, sounding more confident than he felt.

Spike snorted at Xander's hopeful voice. "He's a kid, mate. If him staying awake will piss someone off, he's never gonna nod off. Ever... well, not without some help."

Xander frowned. "You're not bashing his head in, Spike." A cool hand slid up Xander's thigh. "And we're not going to do anything in front of him. No scarring of childrens' psyches. Bad, bad, bad."

Spike found his hand forcibly removed from Xander's body and put back on the armrest, the brunette's face a mask of disapproval.

Xander wasn't happy about telling Spike to back off, but he also wasn't going to do anything that might get them killed before they landed--including having sex in front of a kid. The idea also made him vaguely nauseous.

Spike was none too happy about the situation; he fidgeted next to Xander for several minutes before reaching for one of their bags and rummaging around for a pen and a notebook. Xander looked over curiously, but Spike said nothing. A few minutes later, however, the vampire handed his lover the notebook, pen stuck in the spiral binding.

I would like to fuck you, so slow and deep
Your soul is mine; so too my heart you keep
All others foresworn for your perfection
And of course, your lips give such sweet suction

Xander gaped at the pages. Attack of the bloody awful poet? He wasn't sure whether to blush from embarrassment--the words were rather explicit--or cringe from the excruciatingly low quality of the writing. He looked over at Spike, but the vampire's face was held in an expression that could only be described as 'you're it'. Damnit, Xander was no poet. Then again, this could get entertaining... Better than getting beaten up by their fellow passengers, at least. So Xander tapped the pen on his teeth and concentrated on coming up with a suitable retort. A few minutes later he jotted several lines in the notebook and returned it to Spike.

There once was a vampire named Spike
Who fucked me however he liked
His cock thrusts in
And he gives a sadistic grin
And says loving me is like riding a bike

Spike smiled at Xander's earnest attempt at a limerick. It only took a moment for him to sent back a reply.

I love the way your skin glistens with sweat
Mostly when I think of why you're so wet
Your lips, slick with blood, sliding on my skin
I wait, on edge, for your teeth to sink in

The words brought back memories for Xander as he recalled the expression of bliss on Spike's face every time the human bit into him with blunt teeth.

Your blood is like wine
I worship this pale vessel
Laid open for me

Spike blinked quickly and wrote a response, wondering all the while why bad poetry was making him teary-eyed. He decided that it must've been the utter terribleness of it.

There is no part of you(offered as
a feast for my fingertips)
that I do not
adore although that patch of skin[you know the one]low on
your hip entices
me most curiously;no less golden
than you entire,but
somehow moreso made for my
tongue

Xander scribbled something down, although later he'd be unable to recall the words.

I need you
more than air
sappy but I don't care
my addiction isn't new
your hands on my cock
never stop teasing
torture so pleasing
and your mouth I'll never knock
for you use it so well
like a seasoned pro
how you do it I'll never know
but you always make my balls swell

Spike winced at the poem, but noted that Xander managed to maintain an actual rhyme scheme. The vampire then shifted uncomfortably, because he'd been reminded of (and subsequently affected by) how Xander felt and tasted against his tongue. Oh, the sounds his sweet lad made, when he was past comprehension...

going down on you, my most skilled hobby
then again you taste better than fresh blood

Xander wondered if it made him a pervert to find those words to be both a turn-on and a compliment.

Someday soon
Tie me up again in leather
And fuck me senseless
Please
My collar is cold from neglect

Spike's eyes darted over to caress the metal that encircled Xander's neck.

you
underneath my body
open and begging for my
cock.drinking my seed
like wine.waiting

Xander's eyes slid closed, picturing how Spike looked above him, looming.

Ninety we have past
What we have has no number
But is well counted

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