Not Anya. Thank god. Xander forced himself to look away from the sofa and concentrate on the wall in front of him. The nice, safe, not-shaped-like-Spike wall. “Hey, Giles,” he said into the phone. “How goes the researching? Do you need me to come down?” And pawn Spike off on someone—anyone—else?
“Oh, no, in fact, that’s why I was calling. Researching isn’t—Buffy, please don’t pick up that book, yet, you’re covered in peanut butter. There’s a sink near my office, I beg you to use it.”
“Don’t worry, Giles, I wiped my fingers like a good girl. See? Look, I’m picking it up and. . .um, oops? I’m gonna go wash my hands now.”
Buffy’s response, muffled but still audible, made Xander grin. Until he realized what this call was going to be about. And that was bad. Because as much as he really, really didn’t want Anya to come home—he really wanted Anya to come home.
“Yes, Xander, the researching is going. . . poorly. We’ve discovered what the demon is and what the rod was supposed to do—”
Risking a glance to his left, Xander tried to pay attention. “Not seeing the badness here, Giles. If we know what it is, we can undo it, right?”
“Yes, that’s true,” Giles said. How come he sounded so strained, huh? He didn’t have to spend hours and hours with Spike looking the way Spike looked now. No, that was good old reliable Xander who had to do that.
Wait a sec, Giles was speaking. And Giles was saying— “It was supposed to what?”
“Split someone in two,” Giles repeated, long suffering tone making Xander grin. Poor, poor Giles—wait, Giles was Spike-free. So lucky Giles. “The Dorishant passage says that the Gemini rod will create from one, two halves unequal between them. Yin and yang—well, not actually yin and yang since the demonic equivalent is less—”
“Giles, he’s not going to understand the concept of rishal,” Anya’s voice commented acerbically. “Will you please just—”
“Anya, he’s perfectly capable of understanding things not of human nature. And please don’t stop going through those invoices—if we can’t find the mugwart, then we can’t contact your demon friend and—”
“Well, if someone hadn’t gotten them all mixed up—”
The two of them would argue forever if someone didn’t interrupt. “Giles? Giles!”
“Will you just—yes, Xander?”
“The rod-stick thing was supposed to split people in two. Got it. So how come that didn’t happen for Spike?” Hey, he could be Concise-Guy sometimes.
“Oh, yes, we, uh, aren’t entirely sure. It should have created a human-Spike and a vampire-Spike, but since it obviously didn’t. . . Anya believes she can contact a former demon friend of hers to get more information; she owes her for a dismemberment, I believe.”
Things Xander tried hard not to think about in relation to his girlfriend. “So you’re going to try and contact this demon-friend tonight?”
“Oh, for—will you just give me the—” There was a brief scuffle and then Xander could hear Giles cleaning his glasses. He wondered what Anya had done to cause that reaction. “Xander, I’m going to be at least another few hours, because talking with Larisha always takes forever. She decided to take a mortal husband even though everyone told her that wasn’t a smart thing to do, and when I showed up a few years later to grant her wish, it took her three hours to actually say ‘I wish’. So you should order pizza and drink the beer I don’t like, so I can have the beer I do like when I get home later. How’s Spike?”
It took a few seconds for Xander’s brain to catch up, and when it did, his eyes decided it would be a good time to look at Spike, just for the visual confirmation that Spike was still exactly where he’d been a minute and a half before.
Which of course meant Xander gulped and thought desperately about stinky cheese. “He’s fine,” he squeaked. “He’s, um, not so shocky anymore? Uh, so pizza. You want us to order pizza?”
“And drink the beer I don’t like,” Anya finished, her self-satisfied nod audible over the phone-line. Or maybe Xander was just expecting it, because that’s what Anya did, and a little warm jolt made him smile and calm down a little.
“And drink the beer you don’t like, check. Buffy’s going with you, right? Wherever you’re going to meet this Larisa?”
“Larisha, and yes, Buffy’s coming too. Willow and Tara are going to take Dawn home, and then Riley’s going to meet us at the docks. Have you thought more about what we talked about this morning?”
Panic. Panic was good. Because yes, in fact, he had thought a lot about it. In fact, he’d been pretty much unable to think of anything else—once Spike got over his little freak out that morning, anyway. He glanced over to check on Spike, again, and then hid. Again.
“Uh, sure, I thought about it.”
“Xander, are you all right? You sound very tense and nervous. He hasn’t found that red-and-black outfit that you bought for—”
Low-cut red bustier, crotchless black panties, and imagining Spike dressed in that was not helping. “No,” he yelped, “no he’s just, um—I should go. Pizza and the beer you don’t like—that’d be the Heineken, by the way—and make sure you stay close to Buffy tonight. Love you!”
There was a chorus of ‘bye, Xander’s from the girls, although only Anya said she loved him back, and Xander hung up the phone. He inhaled very slowly, holding it for three beats, and then releasing it. He did not want to go into the living room. Where Spike was.
It was a very Spike-like thing to do, get agitated and start pacing, slight body almost vibrating with contained energy. Except there was no flapping duster with it’s cool, sexy leather, snapping at Spike’s heels. There was just Spike. Dressed in a pair of Anya’s jeans and her black halter top. Barefoot. Walking that hip-swaying, breast-jouncing walk, over and over again.
Xander had spent most of the day in any room but the living room. And he’d done a lot of cleaning.
“Well? How long am I gonna be like this?”
Xander edged into the living room, eyes fixed on the carpet. “Uh, they’re not sure. Anya’s going to check a contact of hers tonight, so maybe we’ll have something then.” Information dutifully related, Xander shifted his eyes up to the tv. Nice tv. “Hey, do you want pizza? And I’ve got beer. We can do the whole manly-guy thing.”
“Fuck you, Harris.”
Oh, look, annoyance. That should help clear his mind, except Spike was still pacing. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate on anything, when Spike’s ass was bouncing like that? “You know, Spike, you might want to be a little more appreciative, here. I mean, here I am, letting you stay with me, letting Anya dress you, and offering you free pizza and beer. Free, Spike. No payment asked for or required.”
“Pretty much the least you can do,” Spike snapped back. “Yeah, order your bloody pizza. Gonna go kill things.” He began searching through the front closet, digging out a pair of Anya’s sneakers.
Xander nodded, pleased—then stopped. “You’re what?”
Spike continued rummaging around, although Xander had no idea what he could be looking for in there. “Gonna. Go. Kill. Things,” he said slowly, sarcasm and derision dripping from each word. “I’m bored, and the sun’s finally down.”
“Spike, you can’t leave!” Spike froze. So did Xander, desperately trying to think of why Spike couldn’t go. “I mean, people are gonna see you. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he added when Spike shifted just enough to glare at him. “But, well, don’t you want to get switched back before people find out about this? And by people I mean other demons. You know, the ones that already kicked you out of Willie’s?”
And that was so far beyond ‘low blow’ that Xander took an instinctive step back, excepting Spike to try and hit him. Spike did whirl around, fists clenched, but didn’t come any closer. He didn’t look angry and frustrated anymore, either. Now he just looked furious. “This is your fault, you imbecilic wanker,” he hissed. “Was minding my own business, wasn’t I? Had nothing to fucking do with me, but no. Oh, no. You bloody white hats can’t bloody stay away from me! I look up, see robed and scaly aim that thing and then you jumped right in fucking front of it!”
Spike was turning red. Didn’t lack of blood and circulation make it hard for vampires to turn red?
“And now I’m a sodding girl! I’ve got tits and everything! I knew throwin’ myself in with you lot was trouble, but I’ve soddin helped you! What would you feel like if some spell whacked your cock off and stuck a pair of tits on you!”
When the silence stretched too long, Xander tentatively answered, “Um, bad?”
“Bad. Bad, he says.” Spike threw up his arms and roared—well, screamed really—before turning a glare of pure ice on Xander. “I don’t give a rat’s arse who happens to see me, cause I’m going to kill everything that fucking moves.”
He wasn’t Spike’s jailor. And he knew the vampire well enough to understand just how much Spike needed the physical release—no, not that kind—that fighting offered. So there wasn’t anything else to do but grab a few stakes and his keys “Okay. Let’s go.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
Key in lock, turn. Open door. Enter apartment, take off jacket, and hang it in the closet. Go directly to kitchen, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, and instead take out three beers. Two of them for Xander.
“Hell, did you see the way this body moved?”
Yes, yes in fact he had. It was burned onto his brain and appeared any time he closed his eyes.
“Did you know women have a different center of gravity? It’s lower, now, near m’ gut.” Hands on said gut from the sound of moving cotton, and Xander kept his eye on the second bottle of beer while he finished the first. A finely-boned white hand appeared in his vision, snagging the beer. Then came the sound of a top being popped and liquid being poured down an exuberant throat.
So exuberant wasn’t exactly a sound. So screw him.
Wait—no screwing! No screwing!
“Did you see the way that wanker, Leo, exploded? Knew him, from back before the chip. Used to work for me, little pissant, when he needed some dosh.”
“That’s the one that recognized you?” Was he supposed to talk now? Or was this the time when he let whichever girl he was listening to babble until she actually started asking him direct questions again? Spike was still a guy, yes, but he’d always had disturbingly. . . well, flexible qualities to him and that made Xander think about things he really didn’t want to. “With the weird stripe down his skin?”
“That’s Leo,” Spike confirmed, followed by a small whoomping sound. Maybe he’d thrown himself on the sofa? A very Spike-like thing to do, especially when he was amped like this, but Xander wasn’t going to turn around and check. He wasn’t. Really. “The way he exploded like that, just when he was screamin’ how he was gonna tell the bloody world about Spikette? Beautiful. Not much of one for creativity, our Leo,” Spike continued, enthusiasm melting into something a little more sarcastic. “I’m sure no one thought of the name ‘Spikette’.”
He reacted without thinking, head turned and glaring. “Have I called you anything other than ‘Spike’ the whole time? Huh?”
“No, but the Slayer did, yesterday—bint forgets that I can hear her when she thinks she’s whispering to Willow.”
He wanted to object again—Buffy wasn’t a ‘bint’—but by then it was too late: Spike was sprawled out over the sofa, head propped up on the join between sofa and armrest so he could watch Xander. His legs were spread, one over the back of the sofa, the other flat on the floor, and he was scratching lazily at his exposed belly. The halter top was dirty and torn, somehow managing to stay on but exposing way more than it should have. The jeans were now shorts, since they’d been torn badly enough to flap around and be a distraction, and Spike had ripped them off before throwing himself back in the melee. Xander noticed distantly that Spike had shaved his legs this morning—which might explain why he’d been in the bathroom for almost a full hour. Maybe.
All of this, topped with an expression as smugly comfortable as a cat spread out in the sun, lazily enjoying a scratch under a bejeweled collar, knowing dinner was whenever he wanted it.
It took effort not to drop his beer. “Erk.”
“Xander,” Spike purred, “why’re you looking at me like that?”
He had to look away. Now, while there was still blood in his head. The one that controlled his neck muscles.
“Are you hurt?” he croaked out. “You got thrown around pretty bad, before—”
That made Spike scowl and, while just as stunning as every other expression on that face, it freed Xander from his paralysis. Thank god. He retrieved the first aid kit from the bathroom without waiting for Spike’s answer, since he knew it was probably ‘yes’ and Spike was probably going to say ‘no’.
Not actually looking at Spike, despite the way Spike moved his body to make Xander do just that, the undead twisted bastard, helped. Except he could smell the spicy hint of Spike himself, plus the smoke from his duster and a hint of what had to be Anya’s floral perfume as Xander efficiently doctored the few cuts or scraps that needed it. The first two fights had been a disaster and it was only due to clumsiness on the part of the newly woken fledges and Xander’s few lumbering attempts to help that either of them survived. But then they’d met Leo, who had immediately recognized who the girl with the Slayer’s friend was, and laughed so hard he’d nearly collapsed.
When Spike tried to attack him, still off balance and uncomfortable in his new skin, Leo had danced away and laughed even harder.
Then he’d turned on Xander.
The fight had lasted a while after that. Xander, from his courtesy-of-Spike perch on top of a nearby mausoleum, had watched the enraged vampire with growing amusement and. . . okay, fine, he could admit it. He’d spent years honing his credentials for watching strong women kick ass, so why should this be a surprise? Watching Spike beat the shit out of Leo, and then a few of his friends, was hot. Hotter than hot with a hint of scorching heat on the side.
It didn’t help that Spike was still so wound up from the fight, even after making another circuit before returning home. Oh, the comments were normal Spike-snark, but he’d never noticed how much the vampire bounced when he was happy. And how much that made other things bounce, now.
Anya was coming home soon, he reminded himself. It would all be better when Anya was home.
“You done staring at my back?”
“Oh!” Great; deep introspection while tracing the patterns tiny, fine hairs—glinting gold in the lamp-light—made on Spike’s skin was not helping anything.
Anya. Remember Anya. Who wanted him to have a threesome and pretty much implied she wouldn’t mind if they started without her—so long as she got to join in, of course. Was it because she was an ex-demon? Or ex-evil? Or even just ’cause she was really old? Maybe when he was forty—or a hundred twenty—or eleven hundred he’d be able to be so blasé about this, but right now? Xander couldn’t do it. Plus, Spike was still a guy and could become one, well, at any moment. Who was to say that if Xander did break down and took Spike back to the bedroom and did—stuff—that he wouldn’t change back to a guy in the middle? It was the kind of thing that happened to Xander all the time, and then he’d be stuck with male Spike, naked and in his bed, still aroused and—
Maybe he should start thinking about other things, because this was not helping.
He put away his first-aid kit, mentally searching for any kind of distraction. Spike was back in the cat position when he returned, watching him with a little smirk and half-lidded eyes. Gah. Distraction. Any kind of distraction.
“Are you hungry?” he babbled, again not really waiting for an answer. “I’m not, no siree, but we can order pizza if you want, and I have beer. Anya doesn’t like it, so please feel free to drink it or pour it down the sink, I don’t care. Do you want blood? Or pizza? Anya said to get pizza.”
“Not hungry,” Spike answered dismissively. “ Had something while you were doing. . . whatever you were doing in the bathroom, before Giles called.”
Twenty-four hours and there was the innuendo Xander had expected. Why the hell couldn’t it have stayed away longer?
“I was cleaning.” His voice was stiff and offended, which some how prompted Spike to slink down even further on the sofa, his body damned near rippling as he got comfortable. “There was grout! In the shower!”
“Looked all spic-n-span when I was in there.”
If Anya didn’t come home soon, she was going to find Xander-parts all over the room from when he finally exploded under Spike’s knowing and annoyingly unrelentless attack. There wasn’t a hint of needy insecurity or desperate unhappiness any longer. There was just Spike, suave, sanguine, and sexy. The cocky swagger was gone, now, in its place a boneless feline seduction that shouted ‘take me, take me now’.
How the hell was Xander supposed to resist this?
It took a minute for Xander’s lust-fogged mind to notice that Spike’s voice had returned to normal and by then, Spike was on his feet, pressing the play button on the answering machine.
“Hello, Xander. Hello, Spike. Still stuck at the docks—you’d think a thousand year old demon would stop acting like a whiny, childish little brat—so I don’t know when I’ll be back. Xander, don’t forget what we talked about: it’s still okay, to have fun without me. Don’t wait up!”
The disconnection was abrupt, but Xander was used to that. He was also used to his life never going his way. He just couldn’t remember a problem of this magnitude ever occurring before. Not even Mrs. French had been this hot—um, bad. Bad.
“So, just you an me, yeah? Fancy that.” Spike offered another heavy-lidded smile. “What ever will we do to pass the time?”
Spike could be winding him up. It wasn’t exactly unheard of for Spike to ‘take the piss’ with Xander, his preferred victim for such mocking. But it wasn’t like Xander and Anya had never tumbled straight into bed after a bad fight, and that was without superpowers urging their hormones into overdrive. His first lover had been Faith, after all, she of the no-slay-sex, and he’d seen Buffy mauling Riley after a particularly vicious patrol. So this was probably a real offer. So there was really nothing standing in his way if he wanted to grab Spike and throw him onto the sofa and rip the halter off entirely, just so he could see if the nipples were pinkish or reddish and if those really were two different colors like Anya claimed. Nothing stopping him at all.
“I’ll go see what’s on tv.”
Flipping channels determinedly for ten minutes was a good mood killer. Either that, or the siren song of the boob-tube was too powerful for Spike to resist. He did sit a little too close, but he wasn’t touching or making with the sex-laden speech anymore. Thank god. Possibly gods. Or any kind of deity out there.
Determined to ignore any more attempts at waylaying him, if there were any, Xander concentrated solely on the television. Ah, Saturday late-night TV. He really needed to order HBO, or Cinemax, or something.
Spike was restless as Xander scanned, idly commenting every three seconds while he shivered and shimmied on the sofa, eventually tucking his legs underneath him, feet pressed against Xander’s ass—“For warmth,” Spike told him when Xander looked down. No accompanying leer, so Xander shrugged and let it go. It wasn’t like he minded it, particularly since Spike’s lack of internal heartbeat made it easy to forget they were feet at all. Just some weird object that happened to be smooth when he started rubbing them, delicate bones and long toes wiggling in lazy enjoyment.
“Hey, wait, go back!”
A non-insulting comment about whatever was on TV or why Xander wanted to watch that particular program? Scary. Obediently flipping back three stations, he was surprised to see Steve Martin’s familiar white hair on the TV screen.
“L.A. Story?” he guessed.
“You want to watch L.A. Story.”
“Yeah, I do. Now kindly shut the hell up, will ya?”
Xander turned away from the tv, mind-boggled. Because Spike. Watching what was basically a chick flick. And enjoying it.
Was Spike turning into an actual girl? He hadn’t really acted girly, so far, but it had been barely more than twenty four hours. Maybe the mental transformation took longer than the physical? And that was a truly frightening thought, because Xander was already outnumbered five to three.
“Love Steve Martin. Back when Saturday Night Live came out? Bloody made the show, when he hosted. Totally hysterical. His King Tut is priceless.”
Now Spike was enthusing about an actor. A male actor who had none of the things Spike usually focused upon—tits and ass, primarily. He’d once heard Spike wax nearly poetic about an actress’ long, dark hair, but, well, Steven Martin definitely didn’t have that.
Oh, god. Spike really was turning into a girl. Ack.
“Come on, Harris.” Spike was spread out over the length couch now, both legs across Xander’s knees, one foot on the arm rest, the other still in Xander’s hands, attention focused on the television. “You can’t tell me you don’t like Steve Martin. This is a bloody fantastic movie! Just listen to this.”
“I could never be a woman,” Steve Martin was saying as Xander followed the line of Spike’s pointing hand to the screen. “I’d just stay at home and play with my breasts all day.”
They froze. Spike in mid-twitch, Xander in mid-rub, and Xander didn’t like thinking about either of those things after that line. He wasn’t going to look at Spike. He didn’t have to, actually, because he knew exactly what Spike would be doing right now, and he knew he really didn’t need to see it. At all.
He looked anyway.
Spike was staring at his breasts, stunned expression slowly bleeding into lust so powerful Xander quickly put Spike’s feet down onto the sofa. Not because Spike looked so sinfully carnal that porn actors probably poured gold at his feet for lessons. No. Because underneath all of that, the expression was innocent—wonder and curiosity about his new body, what it could do, what it could make him feel—and Xander knew it was too late. Much too late.
“I’m uh, feelin’ a mite tired,” Spike said, still staring at his breasts. “Think I can borrow your bed for a bit?” He rose and was practically in the bedroom before finishing, “Just stay an’ watch the flick, I’ll be fine by myself. Won’t damage nothing.”
The door shut firmly behind him.
Five breathless minutes later, Xander heard a quiet moan.
Lightheaded from lack of blood and oxygen, Xander clenched his fists against his thighs and forced himself to think. He shouldn’t do this. Because Anya would. . . be very happy because then she could join in. And Spike would. . . probably also be happy, because the bleached bastard had spent a considerable amount of time and effort trying to get Xander to do what Xander was now contemplating, complete with technicolor images and porny soundtrack.
Another moan sounded from the bedroom, lower and huskier than before.
He still shouldn’t do this. Because Spike would turn into a guy again, like some demented frog, with true love’s kiss involving Xander’s dick, of course, because the universe loved to taunt him. And now he was picturing just how he’d kiss Spike and. . . Another moan sent a flash of heat through his body, reminding him that he’d had those fantasies, too, and. . . and. . . and mocking! That’s right, if he did this, Spike was going to mock him forever once he was a guy again. Except, well, Spike couldn’t really blackmail him, because Anya would know and she’d protect him—and because if Xander really did do what he wasn’t going to do because it was wrong, he’d be able to say ‘you were a girl and I saw you naked’. That beat tiny-dick comments, right? Like rock over paper? Or was it paper over rock?
“Oh, yeah. . .”
He shouldn’t do this. But Anya said he could. But that didn’t make it right. He shouldn’t do this, it was all kinds of wrong, and—
“Oh, yeah. . . fuck. . .oh, fuck, there. . . ”
Oh, right, like he could stand up to that.
Slowly and deliberately, Xander turned off the television and stood up. Took the requisite four steps from the sofa to the bedroom door and pushed it open. It swung easily at his touch, revealing the entire room, from its messy floor, its papered walls, and its messy bed. Containing a messy Spike.
A mostly naked messy Spike.
The pants—shorts?—were still on, not even unbuttoned. Not that removing them mattered since Spike had his hand between his legs, the heel grinding down right at the bottom of the zipper. Xander knew that place. All guys knew that place, because if they didn’t their girlfriends got pissed. Xander didn’t like it when Anya was pissed, but he did like it when she screamed, so he knew that place very well. And he had another three seconds of brain power to wonder if Spike knew where it was from his decades of experience or if this new body came with instructions—
Then there wasn’t anything at all. Except maybe ‘hummina’.
Spike’s eyes were open, wide and staring at nothing, his head pressed hard against the pillow. He was gasping in time with his rolling hips, inhaling as they rose up, exhaling as they fell down. His other hand was attached to his right breast, squeezing it, rubbing it, and pinching the nipple until it was hard, tight, and very, very red.
Xander swallowed. Loudly.
“Xan, it’s—oh, god, it feels—”
He’d been expecting a leering invitation to join in. He knew he was going to say ‘yes’, but he’d expected Spike to play the seducer—seductress?—enticing Xander into bed, promising things not even his froofy thousand year demon knew about.
Instead there wonder. And maybe just a little fear.
The pressure of the zipper on his aching hard-on told Xander that he was kneeling on the bed, but he didn’t pay attention to that. Spike’s eyes had fluttered closed at Xander’s approach, too lost in the sensations to do anything at all, not even breathe—and wasn’t he lucky he didn’t have to. When Anya had done this, she’d choked and coughed and accused him of trying to kill her, once she could speak again.
Xander tugged Spike’s hands off himself, ignoring the strangled protests and pulled Spike into his lap. The vampire quieted only when Xander started touching—long strokes, short strokes, hard touches that went to the bone, feather-light touches that teased and made Spike shiver. Along his face and down his neck, skating over breasts that heaved just like in a romance novel, circling the areola as lightly as he knew how. The skin pebbled behind his fingers, Spike gasping and writhing and generally acting like this teasing was worse than anything he’d ever experienced. Which made Xander want tease him for hours, carefully staying above the barrier of Spike’s pants, wondering if he could make Spike come just like this.
“Wha—what’re you doing?” Spike was trying to sound blustery and annoyed, but Xander heard the hesitation underneath. And the fear. “Want you to—”
Xander pressed his mouth to the curls resting on the crook of his neck. “Remember a few weeks back, you told me that Anya had me well trained?”
“She really, really does.”
He swallowed Spike’s response with a kiss, urging the vampire back down against the sheets. The almost frenzied note in Spike’s breathing meant a change in tactics, so he mimicked what Spike had done before, kneading a breast and tugging on a hard nipple, while rubbing along the seam of Spike’s jeans, hard enough that the vampire squealed. He didn’t stop kissing, either, forcing Spike to push into his mouth, fucking him with his tongue while Xander started exploring a little more.
The lights were still on, lending an unreal quality to an already unreal night. Spike was gasping and panting, trying to form words but not able to; Xander never gave him the chance. He placed punishing bites from nipple to zipper, skillfully removing Spike’s shorts as he moved. He left the panties on, tracing over the impressions Spike’s body made in the silk until it was soaked and clinging to each and every fold. Only then did he slide two fingers underneath the elastic, repeating the process on bared skin. It was like all the frustration from before had vanished; Xander was clear-headed and calm for the first time since he’d seen Spike’s enormous eyes look up at him in the junkyard.
Spike shouted when Xander pinched and bit his nipples, fingers lightly passing over the opening to his body but never going inside. He moaned when Xander sucked on his neck, right above the pulse-point. He laughed when Xander licked the inside of his elbows, but gasped when Xander nibbled the insides of his wrists. His body rocked and rolled against Xander’s until Xander flattened him, grinding his erection between Spike’s legs.
“’S—it’s different,” Spike said at one point. He kept trying to touch Xander, which was nice, but mostly ignored.
“Hm?” There was a belly button in his mouth, he was supposed to think about anything except ‘bite now’?
“What you’re—oh, god—doing? S’different.”
“Good.” Xander bit down, moving his forefinger up through coarse, dripping curls until he found what he was looking for.
Spike shouted when he came.
“That’s one,” Xander murmured.
“One?” Spike blinked up at him, dazed and lost and utterly, adorably, young. Kitten-sexy in every way.
“I told you Anya trained me, didn’t I? One’s nothing.”
Spike swore like a sailor when he was eaten, legs squeezing almost too tightly around Xander’s head and his voice raspy with want. He was silent when Xander slid a finger fully inside him, mouth too busy searching Xander’s for every bit of his own flavor. When one finger became two, and then three Spike started sucking on Xander’s tongue, almost biting as his body was breeched. Stretched, filled, walls fluttering around Xander’s fingers, not hot, but definitely not cold. . .
He mewled when Xander truly entered him, eyes so wide that he couldn’t be seeing anything at all. The scent of sex was thick in the air, making them both lightheaded, their gasps caught on the same rhythm. Xander eased himself in carefully—he’d already been through this one time, and he wasn’t going to let the incredible tightness or Spike’s high pitched whimpers distract him, just in case. . .
A sharp hiss of pain made him freeze.
“Oh, bloody hell.” He had to give Spike credit; it didn’t take him long to figure out what Xander already guessed. “I’m a sodding virgin!”
Carefully muffling his snickers, Xander bit his lip hard before speaking. “Yeah. Anya was, too—she said it was D’Hoffryan playing a nasty trick on her. And since guys don’t really have a, ah, physical mark from devirginizing. . . .” Spike was almost past the pain enough to glare. Time to speed this up. “Breaking it’s gonna hurt. Do you still want to—”
Spike blinked at him and then gave a grunt of disapproval, thrusting his own hips sharply up and forward until something broke around the head of Xander’s cock.
Muscles were clenching and quivering around Xander in reaction, and fuck he wanted to move, but he knew better. He wasn’t going to be able to hold it for long, but certainly long enough to stroke Spike’s lip, right where he was biting it against the pain. “Gee,” Xander said softly. “No more virginity.”
Spike gave him a dirty look, but his body relaxed almost instantly. “Fuck me, already, Xander.”
Good thing he liked bossy lovers.
Xander kept his pace slow at first, letting Spike get used to being filled. Anya said he was big—enough times that Xander believed her—and it had taken her a few moments to go from just taking it, to wanting it. But when she had. . . she acted pretty much the way Spike did, now. Moaning, begging, hips working frantically, meeting each thrust with a gasp, pleading for more and harder and faster, and yes, right there, god what is that, again, hit it again, harder, dammit, feels so good, right there, oh yes, right there, please, there, it’s so good—
“Told you,” he whispered, right before he knew he would have to let go. “Anya trained me very well.”
His own orgasm, delayed for so long, hit first. He muffled his yell into Spike’s neck, making sure he continued to thrust until he felt Spike clench impossibly tight, shrieking, and shivering, body arching so his breasts were flattened against Xander’s chest as he came twice more, one right after the other, until Spike was almost sobbing from release.
When Xander finally had the strength to push himself onto his arms, he discovered why the noises had trailed off. Spike was passed out. Completely cold.
“’Course,” he muttered, pulling out and collapsing onto the bed. It took his remaining strength to drag Spike into his arms. “I really did like practicing. . .”