by Tabaqui

                Some city, some club, somewhere; anywhere that's not Sunnydale and Xander is moving, moving...  His t-shirt is stuck to his back and his hair is damp and lank but it doesn't matter, doesn't matter, 'cause he'd got Spike pressed so close behind him he can feel every rib-bone, every muscle in that belly, every rivet and button in those tight black jeans.  Cool fingers skating through the sweat on his arms, cool lips at his throat and cool tongue tasting and tasting again.   Xander isn't thinking - at least not with his brain - but his hands have acquired a primate cleverness all their own and are currently gripping and rubbing those same jeans - digging down to hold onto the flexing, pushing muscle beneath.   The music tails off - the crowd screams - the DJ is taking a break and Spike grabs one of those clever hands and hauls him through the crowd - uses elbows and steel-toed feet to get up to the bar and get them both cold beers.  They stagger off, outside, into air barely less humid and hot, and Xander gulps the beer so fast it hurts going down.  The cold is good, though.  Spike pushes him into a wall, just around the corner from the club door.   Brick wall still breathing out the last vestiges of heat from the long, hot day and Xander just sprawls there, gasping a little, as Spike starts working on his t-shirt.   Spike's own shirt - thin black silk - is unbuttoned all the way and hanging off his shoulders like some kind of fucking Playgirl photo and Xander loves the ink-black silk on the bone-white skin.

                The damp material covering Xander's chest tears like tissue and then Spike is licking and his lips and tongue are cold from the beer - cold beer-bottle pushing into Xander's ribs and he sucks in a surprised breath and grins and chugs a little more icy nectar from his own.  It's empty now and he tosses it aside - gets those hands back onto those hips and his fingers have gotten really clever now; now they're undoing belt and buttons and pushing, pushing, and Spike is cool and hard and wet in his hands, and Xander makes a sort of ooooh noise when unexpected teeth find his nipple and bite.

                 "Listen to that,"  Spike breathes, and Xander listens.  The club is playing the radio now, until the DJ comes back, and the lyrics of some new song din in his head, bizarrely appropriate as Spike does a full-body slide down his chest and takes Xander's jeans down with him.  Vampire hand on his thigh, digging in, vampire mouth on his belly - on his cock - clink as Spike's beer hits the ground.

                "I like your pants around your feet

                 I like the dirt that's on your knees

                And I like the way you still say please

                While you're lookin' up at me

                You're like my favorite damn disease..."


                "Fuck -"  Xander whispers, and Spike is tasting him, long licks of his tongue going from root to tip, over and over, nails digging into the spot right where buttock and thigh meet, the other hand on his balls, pressure and scratch and tug, enough pain to make it sweet, enough sweet to make Xander  moan, and:

                "Fuck yeah, Spike - " Looking down at the vampire who is looking straight at him, blue eyes like neon and Xander has to sink his hands into that hair - has to rake it all out of order and pull it, just a little.  Thumb in the socket of Spike's jaw, loving the feeling of the joint working under the skin, his other hand sliding down the sleek throat, feeling the swallow in two places and arching hard off the wall.

                "And I like the way you like me best

                And I like the way you're not impressed

                While you put me to the test..." 


                His jeans are down around his ankles now, Spike's are just past his knees and Xander yanks on the platinum-white hair, wanting just a little more and gets it when Spike sinks the tips of his fangs in, a ring of rose-thorn prickles around the base of his cock and the undulation of Spike's throat making him shout; a hoarse yell into the music and the traffic noises and the loud conversation from just around the corner.

                "Sspike, Spike, oh fuck -"   His orgasm like pins and needles and fire all down his back, down his thighs, making them tremble and Spike is pulling back, licking at smears of blood, standing in one easy push and spinning them around.  His back against the brick, now, and Xander's fingers still in his hair and on his throat and Xander kisses him hard enough to bruise - hard enough to get a buck and hiss from the vampire and he's going down, to his knees, blood in his mouth and Spike's hands on his shoulders, pushing.  He burrows into the crease between body and thigh - sinks his teeth into the flesh just over that tendon, that's straining tight as a bow-string.  Spike growls and Xander rakes his ragged, chewed-on nails down, from floating rib to mid-thigh, and Spike comes off the wall with a yowl like a pissed-off cat.  Mouth and teeth, worrying inner thigh, the velvet skin of the scrotum, then the thick vein that runs just there.  Xander tastes pre-come like spicy cream and he licks up and then sucks down, doing his best to do what Spike does; tip to root in one hard push.  Spike's knees are bending - trembling - his hands on Xander's head are clawing and yanking and Xander pulls and pushes against the little wasp-pricks and grins around the cool flesh and rubs his fingers through what's spilling over his chin.   Slides his hand down and then back and then up, two fingers breaching fast and hard and Spike arches into a rigid bow of alabaster and ink.  Xander swallows and licks and swallows and finally Spike is sagging back and his hands relax - relent - smoothing Xander's hair back, now, soothing his raw scalp.

                Xander pushes himself up, uncaring that they're mostly nude.  Spike pulls him forward by his hips and the kiss is blood and come and beer and smoke, spice and magic and sweet.    The kiss is fucking good, and it's everything that's him and Spike, together. 

                "And now I know who you are

                It wasn't that hard

                Just to figure you out..."


                "Fuck yeah,"  Spike whispers, hands keeping them tight together, groin to groin and heart to heart, and Xander doesn't care that a demon knows him better than anyone else.


Nickelback - Figure You Out





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