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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, Judy Collins.
"Tell me."
Xander didn't bother replying; he just glanced up at a spot somewhere to the left of wherever Spike's face wasn't. Spike was reminded of the way Dawn looked when Buffy complained that her sister wasn't helping around the house or something. He didn't mention it to Xander; somehow he knew the boy wouldn't appreciate being compared to a teenage girl. Even one who'd had a crush on both of them...
Spike sighed. He knew he shouldn't feel like the bad guy, but he did. They had to talk about whatever was bothering Xander. "Xander, we've been through stuff like this before."
"So we don't have to talk about it again," Xander shot back, almost snarling. "There's nothing to talk about."
"Yes, there is," Spike said in return. "Xander..."
Xander stood up abruptly, walking to the door. "Convenient how the sun's up, Spike. Have a nice day trapped in here. I'm going to go enjoy Bangkok." The door slammed behind him, leaving Spike staring at it.
He knew Xander would be back; despite the ocean of their shared neuroses he was sure of that, at least. With a great, heaving sigh, Spike flopped back on the bed. Some days just weren't worth the effort of waking up.
Spike suspected that this incident was just the latest in a series of indicators that their impromptu road trip around the world was taking its toll on Xander--and himself. The stress of enforced separation from home wasn't easy on either human or vampire. Going back was out of the question, though.
None of that replaced Xander, though. Spike was alone and he didn't want to be. Morning sex was one of his favorite activities, right up there with afternoon sex and evening sex and sex on boats and... sex in general, but morning sex was particularly nice.
Xander would burrow underneath the covers, warm hands seeking out Spike's skin. Then nimble fingers would wrap around his cock, slowly stroking him until the blonde was begging for more or less--something to assuage the seething arousal that had overtaken him.
Spike reached down, squeezing and stroking himself in his best imitation of Xander's hands. Rough skin, blood heat, blunt fingernails catching and scratching. Xander always laughed when Spike's hips twitched and bucked. The boy was so easily delighted.
The bed springs protested as Spike thrust into his hands, eyes closed tightly against the lonely reality of the hotel room. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. Without Xander here, the act wasn't worth words. It wasn't sex, just release and a reminder that something more was roaming the streets, working off his frustration on hapless fellow tourists.
Cool, slick fluid coated Spike's fingers as he slid into a joyless orgasm. Relaxation quickly morphed into mild distaste and he wiped his hand on his stomach. His skin would soon start to itch from the drying come, but Spike didn't care. It was going to be a long day anyway.
"Ninety-Five."
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