Balcony

 

 

 

 

 

The sound of a zipper dropping is harsh over the sound of voices laughing and glasses clinking.  “Hurry up,” Xander hisses, shoving at Spike’s pants so hard he almost tears them.  If these were Spike’s old, ratty jeans, neither of them would care, but the tuxedo pants cost a lot of money and if they rip, Xander’s going to be pissed.

 

Well, later.  Much later, because if Spike doesn’t get them off, Xander is going to rip them at the seam, the way he’s pulling.

 

Then, finally, they’re off and the boxers Spike wore expressly to please Xander are torn in his impatience.  “Christ!” Spike gasps, thrusting his ass back to Xander’s grabbing hands.  “Thought you liked those on me.”

 

“I like them better off you,” Xander growls, rough and needy.  Anyone from the party would think Xander is angry, furious even, but Spike knows different.  “You better be ready,” Xander adds, hands busily searching for the slick that’s waiting for him.  Xander speaks directly into his ear, breath hot and wet enough to distract him when the first finger pushes inelegantly inside.  “Looking at you all night.  Watching you tease.  Did you think I’d just ignore it?  Huh?  Did you think I’d just let you get away with it?  Watching you act like the fucking belle of the ball.  You were flirting, Spike!”

 

Spike grabs onto the balcony railing as Xander yanks his finger out and slams his cock in, barely remembering not to cry out.  He’s stretched and lubed, of course, since most of Xander’s complaints are part of a specifically designed ruse to make Xander forget about his first major company party as ‘out’.  Well, first major party when he’s a rising star, too, and the combination’s made Xander damned near unlivable for the past few weeks.  So Spike planned and plotted and played the charming, debonair boyfriend, knowing that it turns Xander into goo every time.  It’s only after Spike had wowed them that he brought out the kind of low-key flirting that never is when it comes to Xander.

 

It’s a win-win-win situation.  The bosses are pleased, since Spike’s flattering them and helping.  Xander doesn’t have a chance to sound like the idiot he thinks he is, too busy either letting Spike lead, or staring at Spike, and therefore not twisting himself up over his own feet.

 

The last win is happening right now, of course, twenty feet from the party still going drunkenly strong back inside.  Xander’s growling in his ear with every breath, hips smacking against his loudly enough that they could hear that, or maybe the oofing Spike makes every time his cock is driven into the metal grating, but neither of them care.  Spike revels in it, acting the part by lowering his neck and giving off the low, helpless sounds that always makes Xander fuck him that much harder.  Xander’s got one hand on the railing next to Spike’s, the other clamped around Spike’s hips and belly tightly enough that a human would be having problems, about now.

 

Not Spike.  Spike’s harder than the metal he’s banged into, loving each wild thrust.  “Not allowed to flirt then, am I?”  The question should be mild, but the long pauses to pant make it less so.

“No.”  There’s no give in that word and Spike starts thrusting back even harder.  It’s not that Xander doesn’t keep him well satisfied—and vice versa—regularly giving in to Spike’s more primal side.  But while this is something Spike has engineered, it’s all Xander’s innate possessiveness and lust and love.  No one else will understand, but Spike doesn’t care about them.  To him, it’s love.

 

He’s trying not to make too much noise as Xander slams into him, but a particularly loud cry eventually escapes—timed with Xander’s nearly painful jab against his prostate.  Behind them, the door slides open and the noise of chattering people and softly playing music spills out into the night.  “Xander?”

 

They freeze, Xander buried balls-deep inside him.  “Say something,” Xander instructs, voice soft and persuasive and deep enough to make Spike shiver.  “I’m too busy to talk.”

 

And then he starts again, this time pressed up against Spike’s back so he can only jerk his hips back a tiny amount.  He compensates for this by adding the circling motion that makes Spike’s knees want to give out.  Then he starts sucking on Spike’s earlobe, scratching his teeth against it.  “Bastard,” Spike hisses, then raises his voice.  “Sorry, Greg.  Just thought we’d enjoy the night.”  Spike can almost hear his actorly muscles pop from overuse, but he manages not to sound like he’s having his brains fucked out, he thinks.

 

“Was that a cat yowling I heard?”

 

Xander laughs wickedly in his ear.  Spike has to stop breathing entirely to prevent the moan from giving them away.  “Er, probably.  Thought I heard a scuffle a bit ago—some tom’s probably out chasing.”

 

Greg nods, the light on the patio showing the movement with a sudden increase, then decrease.  “Right.  Hey, don’t stay out too long, okay?  You haven’t meant Tom yet, and he’s very interested in meeting Spike.”

 

“We’ll be back inside in a little,” Xander says, perfectly calm.  Spike hates him for that ability, even though he knows that Xander can’t control it.  Normally he’s babbling like the thirteen year old he hasn’t been in almost a decade and a half, when he’s nervous.

 

Except, he’s not nervous now.  Instead, he’s waiting for that final tiny click of the sliding door latching.  And then he’s pounding into Spike so hard that a human would probably tear, growling nonsense under his breath with each slam of his hips.  His hand detaches from Spike’s waist to find Spike’s cock, stripping that as harshly as he fucks.  “Come,” he growls, commanding and fierce and Spike has to bite his own wrist to stop from shouting as he climaxes.

 

Xander fucks him a few seconds longer and then noses his way down below the white, starched collar to bite Spike’s back so hard it nearly bleeds.

 

They’re both dozy as they zip themselves up, laughing almost drunkenly and leaning on each other.  “Evil,” Xander murmurs, pulling Spike against him once the buttons are finally done up.  “You planned that.”

 

Spike snuggles closer, feeling sleepy and sated.  “Duh, evil here.”

 

“Yeah.”  Kissing Spike thoroughly, Xander ends up with both arms around Spike to keep him from slithering into a melted puddle at his feet.  “Come on.  We’ll go schmooze a little more, then I can take my girl home and put her to bed.”

 

They’re already inside before Spike gets it and hisses, “Oi!  Am not the girl!”

 

Xander just smiles and wraps an arm around Spike’s waist.  “Ah, Mr. Tutorello.  I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Spike ... ”

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