“Oh, wow!” Andrew pressed a fist to his mouth. If he made a sound, then he’d be found out, and that would be bad. Because Anya had really pretty breasts and oh, my god, oh my god!
Xander. Sliding out of his ex-fiancé so they could switch positions. His cock was glistening from being inside her, and his entire body was flushed with passion. He was biting his lip as he twisted himself and then Anya, getting her to straddle him.
Andrew pressed the other fist against his own erection.
He should leave, of course. Now. Before they found out because Anya would kill him and Xander would give him those pouty dark eyes, mixing anger and hurt and disappointment into a combination that Andrew could never stand up against. Xander was just. . . thrusting his hips over and over while Anya moaned happily, meeting every thrust.
“Pretty together, aren’t they?”
Andrew squeaked, his fist thankfully muffling most of the sound, breathless and red as he whipped around to see Spike. Spike right behind him, practically touching.
“Turn ’round. Been watchin’ you. Pathetic doesn’t come close to justice for a wanker like you, but oddly enough, got a soft spot for blokes like that. Turn around. Watch as he slides into her again. He’s good at dicking, Xander is. Knows just how to angle himself inside her.”
Andrew couldn’t help but turn, caught between the soft sounds of Xander and Anya on the floor and the hypnotic rhythm of Spike’s words. And then—oh, god, Spike was touching him! Opening his pants, pushing them down to expose his white underwear because his mom wouldn’t let him wear boxers. And then Spike was pressing himself up against Andrew’s back while his hand fished Andrew out of the stupid tighty-whities.
“She loves it, loves feelin’ him up in her. Look at her face, Andrew. Anya loves a good coring, she does, feeling him stretch her the way she loves best. Cause Xander knows the best ways to keep her happy. Playing with her clit when she wants it, tugging her nipples when she wants that. An’ all the while, sliding himself in an’ out of her. . .”
Something hard was pressed against his back, but Andrew didn’t care. So long as he had those whispered words in his ear and that tight hand fisting him in the same rhythm of Xander’s slow roll of his hips. He could almost image that he was fucking Anya. That it was him she was moaning for, breathlessly encouraging.
“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Stretch yourself wide over a big cock, feel him slid all the way in till his balls touch your skin. Yeah, you’d love that. Would it be him? Would it be Xander taking you, telling you how perfect you are, how good you feel around him?”
Spike was grinding against his back, now, a physical echo of the images in Andrew’s mind. To have those big hands on his hips, on his cock, while he was stretched and filled and ridden. . .
Andrew came all over Spike’s hand. Didn’t say anything as Spike cleaned him up and walked away.