by Rubywisp


"What the hell are you doing?" Xander's voice is strained, incredulous and edgy. He's got no patience, no room for Spike in his apartment - in his bed - playing games with him yet again, he has no doubt. Fresh from the ER, too sore and worn out to even contemplate his usual spot on Buffy's couch, he's so very not in the mood for a head-fucked vampire who wants to fuck with his.

"Well, I was sleeping," comes the muffled reply from the mass of wild bleached curls on his pillow.

"Are you kidding me?" Xander lets the shoe he'd been about to drop dangle from his fingertips. Wonders if the soul would keep Spike from retaliating if Xander threw it at him. Probably not, he decides. Xander's got no doubt that Spike's got a mental list titled something like 'People I Can Fuck Up and Not Feel Bad About It', and he's just as sure that he's on it, right behind every member (past and present) of the Initiative.

The blankets,
his blankets, shift slightly, and now there's one sleepy blue eye glaring balefully at him. Oh, yeah, 'cause he's the bad guy here, disturbing the harmless innocent vampire's rest, right?


Xander sighs in exasperation and just barely resists the urge to pick up his shoe and hurl it anyway. "I wasn't questioning the 'sleeping' part, O Bane of My Existence. It's the 'in my bed' part I'm having problems with."

The eye blinks slowly. "You shagged in my bed, shouldn't I at least get to nap in yours?"

Xander tries not to wince. He mostly succeeds.

Amusement now in the blue, and Spike's voice is clearer, more awake. "'Course, maybe it's not the 'in your bed' part you're really having problems with, hey?"

Xander can't see the expression on Spike's face but worry skitters up his spine anyway. Spike sits up then, the blankets puddling around his waist.

"Are you... are you naked? You're... god... you, you, you..." Xander's choking on indignation, shock and blood loss, and he learns the answer to his question when Spike - unfortunately, yes, naked - gets out of bed, comes over and starts pounding him on the back.

"Sorry, mate. Was just trying to help - didn't mean to give you convulsions."

"Help? Help? What help, where? How is you being naked in my bed help?"

Spike stops hitting him and shrugs, his eyebrows high. "You said you needed some help with the whole gay thing. That's a quote."

Xander gapes at him for a long moment and then closes his mouth with an almost audible snap. Thinks he finally understands the meaning of the word 'dumbfounded'. "No, that's a
joke, Spike. The soul take away your sense of humor?"

Spike rolls his eyes, lips twisted disbelievingly. "Yeah, right. And you didn't throw me a coy little virgin-boy glance from under those long lashes of yours when the Slayer pointed out that you'd probably only start attracting male demons."

Xander's protest shrivels into something that in no way resembles a squeak when Spike steps close enough that Xander would be able to feel the body heat radiating from his naked body, if his naked body wasn't dead.

"That's what you're gonna say next, right?"

Dry swallow, dry tongue run fruitlessly across drier lips, and all Xander can do is nod and think that he really should be moving away from the naked body now pressed against him. Now, soon, any time would be good, really. "I'm not gay," he protests thickly.

"'Course you're not," Spike murmurs, his voice muted because he's got his face pushed into the crook of Xander's neck.

Nope, Xander's not gay. He's not gasping, either, not dizzy with the feel of Spike's mouth moving wetly against his skin, raising the little hairs on the back of his neck. His hands are most definitely not twitching to slide themselves across the skin stretched smoothly across the sharp planes of Spike's hips. Not at all. And when Spike sucks an earlobe into his mouth, Xander only makes that noise because it tickles, and he doesn't like being tickled.

He's not sure what to ascribe the tiny shudders that zing through him when Spike starts unbuttoning his shirt to, although his rapidly-hardening cock has a suggestion or two to make.

Xander's reaction is stripping him of his denial as deftly as Spike is stripping him out of his clothes, and he feels naked in more ways than one by the time his clothes are in a pile at the foot of his bed.

Spike lifts his mouth from where he's been busy blazing patterns Xander will feel for the rest of his life, and looks Xander in the eye. Long, searching look, and Xander wants so badly to look away, to run away, to say something that'll make Spike stop, make Spike never stop. He wants to ask why, but not really, because he knows Spike's just fucking with him, just seeing how far Xander's willing to let this little game go.

Xander's kind of curious himself. If you'd asked him half an hour ago, he'd have said 'nowhere', but the recent Anya-sex satisfied nothing, only left Xander hungry and desperate for hands on his skin, a mouth on his body, and someone sweaty and writhing underneath him, so he's not quite sure what the answer is at the moment. In fact, when Spike pulls Xander close, working his hips like a go-go dancer in a cage, one hand on his ass, the other slipping up to twist his nipple sharply - "Always thought you'd be the type to like a bit of pain with your fuck, pet", and oh, he's so not wrong - Xander's pretty damn sure he's forgotten the question.

His clothes, his denial and his resistance are all finally gone, and Xander's hands find their way across the pale, silky expanse of Spike's back and down to his ass. He's always been an ass guy, and it turns out that Spike's fits just fine into the palms of his hands. Spike's head fits neatly underneath Xander's chin, too, when he ducks his head and pushes until Xander's back is up against the wall.

They're gasping now, clutching at each other as they twist and thrust, suck, lick and bite in silence, neither one willing to admit to not knowing when this stopped being a mind-fuck and became something that'll be remembered and replayed in the middle of the night, in the middle of the day, alone and awake in their respective beds.

Spike comes first, which isn't what Xander expected - insert your own joke about supernatural stamina here - but he doesn't stop moving against Xander, and oddly enough, it's the feel of Spike's cock softening in the cool slickness on their bellies that ramps Xander up and sends him careening over the edge into his own orgasm.

Tomorrow there'll be angst and second-guesses, snark and sarcasm. But for now there's just Xander, wiping them both clean with the shirt he'd left on the floor, and Spike, uncharacteristically meek, following Xander to the bed and submitting to being pulled close and tucked in. Turns out the pillow's big enough for both of them.


Buffy finds them the next morning, because this is Xander's life after all, and no scene in it, however touching (naughty kind or no), is complete without a huge, whopping dose of humiliation.

Except that as it turns out, he's not so much humiliated as he is frustrated that this means there'll be no lazy, early-morning repeat of last night. Also turns out that Spike doesn't do the expected cut-and-run, but just lies there, naked in Xander's bed, sleepy and still sated-looking.

Still playing games, Xander figures, though he spares a moment to wonder if Round Two is aimed at himself or Buffy.

After a brief struggle that Xander knows is strictly for his benefit - Xander doesn't think Spike would mind being naked in front of the entire graduating class of Sunnydale High, 2003, much less Buffy - he gets the sheet wrapped around him and follows Buffy into the living room. He knows Spike will still probably be able to hear every word, but like the sheet, the gesture is mostly about increasing Xander's comfort level in a very uncomfortable situation.

Her eyes are already halfway up her forehead as she hands his car keys to him silently.

He takes them with an embarrassed chuckle. "Maybe I should've driven myself home last night after all, huh?"

"I was trying to help you out. Thought you might not want to overdo it, with the blood loss." Buffy studiously avoids looking at the bedroom door. "Guess I was wrong."

She takes a quick, deep breath and purses her lips in an expression Xander's learned means a speech is coming. "Tell me this is the first time this has happened, and that that 'gay me up' speech you gave us a while back wasn't your way of preparing us for revelations of the 'But I love him' variety?"

There's a pause while Xander tries to ignore the whole 'Gah! I'm naked!' flight response coursing through his veins long enough to answer, and Buffy's eyebrows rise dramatically.


"What? Huh? No! No no no - there was no - this wasn't - It just happened," Xander finishes lamely. "Literally," he admits with a glance at the bedroom door.

"So not needing details."

"No problem, Buff. It's at times like this when I take up the motto, 'Friends Don't Let Friends Overshare'."

Spike's bark of laughter comes through the door, and Xander pulls a face. "OK, so as a motto it needs a little work, but you understand, right?"

Buffy finally looks at the bedroom, and her expression is sad. "Yeah, I do."

She takes another deep breath, and Xander watches, fascinated, as she pulls herself together before turning her gaze to him again. He can almost see her shoving the taped-up box into her mental closet and locking the door. "This isn't a good idea, Xander. You of all people know that."

Xander barks a laugh of his own and nods. "I do." He lays one hand on Buffy's shoulder, the other keeping a firm grip on the sheet that's now fallen to his waist. "Look, Buff - there is no 'this', OK?" She looks at his chest and his sheet doubtfully, and Xander squeezes reassuringly. "Really. I meant it when I said it just happened. It's done happening, therefore, there is no 'this' happening."

They both stop and try to puzzle this out, and Xander frowns. "Or something."

There's a muted crash - maybe more of a thud - from the bedroom, and Xander starts ushering Buffy toward the front door. "Are you going to be all right?" she asks, looking worried.

Xander pastes a 'don't be silly' expression on his face, even as he's wondering how many times he's thought that very same thing between the time he got home last night and now. "I'll be fine. He's... ok, not chipped anymore, and that's going to take a while to get used to, don't you think? - but yeah, I'm fine."

They stop, Buffy's hand on the doorknob, Xander still touching her shoulder. "In fact, it's all good, really. Really, really good."

Buffy's eyes widen, and Xander stammers. "No - I mean - I'm good! Yeah, I'm good, that's what I mea-"

Buffy tucks her chin in and looks up at him with one eyebrow lifted.

Xander regroups. "No 'this', no 'happening', and you're leaving now so I can kick out the naked vampire in relative peace and with a minimal amount of further embarrassment, OK?"

He can tell she's fighting a smile, but she just nods and agrees to go. Thankfully. "Call me when he's gone."

Xander throws her a sarcastic, "Yes, mother," and she pulls away, looks up at him with what he privately calls her 'She who must be obeyed' face.

"I need to know you're OK." Dry look. "Given some of the things I could say... all things considered, I think you can deal with a little over-protectiveness, don't you?"

Ouch. Xander acknowledges the direct hit with a nod and a wry grin, and opens the door for her. "Over-protectiveness is good. It's one of the many wonderful qualities that you have that I love you for."

Buffy laughs at his backpedaling - quietly, though, which is really the only way she laughs at all anymore, Xander thinks sadly - but it's tempered by the kiss good-bye that she places on his cheek.

Xander has about .743 seconds to enjoy the relative peace and quiet after locking the front door before Spike's on him and at him, pushing slowly against him from behind.

The thinness of the sheet around Xander's body makes it pretty obvious that Spike is still naked. Then the sheet is gone, twitched away with a graceful flick of Spike's wrist that Xander knows he could never even describe, let alone mimic. Spike guides and positions Xander like he's some kind of brainless, naked puppet, until he's in a full-body press against the door, arms spread, hands wide and flat on the wall next to the doorframe.

Xander knows he could put a stop to this easily. Open his eyes and his mouth and with one or two well-timed sarcastic remarks, Spike would be pissed off, throwing colorful insults Xander's way while he dresses, cursing Xander as he slams the apartment door shut behind him.

He could. He should, even.

He definitely shouldn't be letting his forehead thump against the door, holding his breath and waiting breathlessly, wondering where Spike will touch him first. Sucking in his gut at the faintest brush of a cool hand across his belly, the muscles in his back twitching for contact when Spike pulls away, heart thumping harder when he gets it in the shape of Spike's mouth on him, lips open and wet, tracing the groove of his spine, all the way down.

Xander's torn between pulling away and thrusting when Spike's mouth hits the curve of his ass. His skin is hungry, frantic for more, and it's tipping him over the edge, goading him to spread his legs farther and let Spike do anything he wants, so long as it means he gets the touch he's craving so desperately.

It's that thought that smacks some clarity into him, gives him just enough mental space to speak up and object. "Spike..." It comes out as more of a moan than a protest, and he clears his throat and tries to gather his brain cells together long enough to give it another shot.

He's known he was a slut - albeit a serial, monogamous slut - for a while, but he doesn't see any reason why Spike should know that. And then there's the whole gay thing, which he most definitely isn't, he reminds his aching cock. An off-the-cuff joke, spoken in the heat and frustration of yet another demon-related dating disaster does not a change in sexual orientation make, dammit.

"Spike." Xander finally manages to force his voice out dispassionately enough that he's almost convinced it sounds like a warning instead of begging. Spike's hands never stop plucking at him. "Spike."

One last try. "Look, Spike, this -"

"This?" Spike's voice is low, smooth as old, expensive cotton sheets, and amused.

Xander remembers that this is all supposed to be a game, and realizes that he's somehow made the exact move that Spike's apparently been waiting for.

Spike flips him around and lines them up, their cocks sliding wetly next to each other, and Xander takes his Pyrrhic victory, satisfied in the knowledge that Spike's as hot and bothered by all this wrongness as he is, even while he's taunting Xander in that buttercream-rich voice.

"There's no this."

And Xander wants to fight, wants to argue the words that are being thrown back in his face, but with his cock trapped so snugly in the crease of Spike's hip, he knows he's lucky he remembers his name. Talking is definitely out of the question. He peels his hands away from where they're clinging to the wall, trying to push Spike away from him.

Spike just uses that against him too, lacing their fingers together and moving them, still joined, up and over Xander's head, which changes the angle of their thrusts in a way that leaves Xander seeing sparkly, colored things in his head, like a cartoon character that's just been brained.

"Nothing's happening here."

Moan torn from Xander, very much against his will, when Spike trails tiny bites along the underside of his jaw. He twists and angles his neck, wanting more; not enough contact, not enough pain.

Spike chuckles darkly and when he gives Xander what he wants and bites, Xander can't help but wonder if Spike can smell the need on him or if he's just been around enough that's he's fluent in many different types of body language. It doesn't break the skin, but it's hard enough that the panic flash-floods through Xander's brain reflexively and how broken is he, that being afraid of Spike turns him on?

Maybe he's not gay. Maybe he's just a freak.

"No this, no happening."

The continued mocking slides off Xander as easily as Spike slides down his body, though there's a rough spot when Spike's tongue lingers too long on Xander's not-very-healed stomach wound. Flash of 'ew' that's gone faster than it appeared when Spike finally hits his knees, nuzzling Xander's groin with his face.

Xander twists his hands lightly in the insane curls rioting on the top of Spike's head and just... watches. Wrong, wrong, wrong, and it only makes him harder.

Spike looks up then, moving his head just enough that the fat head of Xander's cock is rolling oh-so-slightly back and forth across his lips. There's something in the almost-black of his eyes that's making Xander's stomach twist in a way that makes his cock give a little bounce against Spike's mouth. A warning, a promise, a question, a challenge.

It's the last that pushes him to talk. Always is, with Spike. "Suck me."

Not even the barest hint of a change of expression, which surprises the shit out of him. There's... waiting in the air now, though, so he repeats himself, tugging on Spike's head for good measure. Not that it does him any good; he might as well be trying to shift Plymouth Rock instead of a medium-sized naked man kneeling at his feet.

The look in Spike's eyes sharpens and grows amused. Xander remembers, once again, that all the naked fun (
not gay not gay not gay) is about Spike fucking with his mind and they stare silently at each other for a moment, waiting for Xander to figure it out.

His hard-on is in danger of fading away, so he guesses. "C'mon, Spike."

He gestures with a jerk of his head and another tightening of his hands in Spike's hair. "Suck my dick." The humor is still there in Spike's gaze, but now heat flickers around the edges of it. Xander moves his hips a little, and there's an image in his brain, of him forcing Spike to take it, and his cock hardens again.

Sadistic gay freak.

At this point, though, he'd be okay with that, as long as it meant he ended up with his dick down Spike's throat. He tells Spike one more time, and he'll never know if the third time really was the charm or if Spike could somehow read his mind and was just waiting for him to acknowledge his inner monster.

His knees almost buckle when Spike finally parts his lips and Xander's cock slides right in, too hard, too fast, and so fucking perfect. They sets up a steady pace, pushing back and forth, Xander staring as his cock slides in and out of the tight circle of Spike's mouth, wetter and slicker and redder with every tug, every suck.

Spike watches him back, and Xander can't look away, not even when Spike lets his bottom teeth gently scrape their way along the whole length of his cock, up and over the head, and the sparks that shoot down his legs threaten to collapse him like a sweaty deck of cards.

They're back in that place where they've forgotten about everything but this, and Xander's hands clench convulsively in Spike's hair. Getting face-fucked on his knees obviously does something for Spike, too, if the angry state of his own cock and the way he's pulling furiously at it is any indication.

Xander stretches and clenches and grits his teeth, but he comes first this time, in a haze of whited-out vision that leaves him shivering and gasping.

When he's coherent again, Spike is just... standing in front of him, much too close now that they're not trying to get each other off. Xander looks away first, ducking his head and slipping around Spike wordlessly, heading for the shower where he hopes he'll be able to wash away more than just the saliva off his now-limp dick.

Finished, he doesn't see Spike when he heads for his bedroom to get ready for work, so it's a shock when he re-emerges from his room to find the vampire sprawled across his couch, cursing the lack of decent television at 8 a.m. and working his way through Xander's last bag of jalapeņo-flavored potato chips like he's got a right to them.

Xander rubs his face roughly with one hand, takes a deep breath. "Why are you still here?"

Without looking away from the TV, Spike gestures toward the windows, the heavy blinds closed against the... oh. Sunlight.

Xander sighs and grabs his keys from the kitchen counter. "Fine. Just -"

"Don't make a mess, don't eat all your crap, and be gone by the time you get back from work. Got it," Spike intones, already bored.

The air whooshes out of Xander, just a little bit. "Yeah."

He stands there for a moment, watching Spike channel-surf and ignore him. It unsettles him, though he refuses to acknowledge it. He leaves then, closing the door quietly behind him, wondering, if he was the one being taking advantage of, why he suddenly feels like the bad guy.


End Chapter One




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