Ritualistic Alone Time

It had taken Xander three desperate and miserable weeks to come up with the ritual.

And another three months to perfect it, but hey, he had lots of time. It wasn't as if his social calendar had been brimming since Cordy went off to wherever and Oz decided to keep his distance.

Normally, he could have counted on Willow for company and distraction. But as Oz went, Willow went with him, so Xander was getting really really good at single player video games.

Sometimes, mindless violent explosions helped.

And sometimes, it took a little more.

He'd noticed that the worst time of month always started the same; a few days before the one circled in red on his calendar every month, he'd start feeling that antsy crawl up and down his spine, and a tense knot in the back of his mind that seemed to crouch there beneath everything he did, growling a bring it on, motherfucker growl that made him want to snap at-

-everything but his dad, because even the hyena wasn't stupid.

Xander thought of Spike, and the resulting rush of hormones, need, and hate nearly made him dizzy. Okay, so the hyena might be stupid, but it was only stupid about Spike, and that should so not be a comforting thought.

He'd taken to marking it on his calendar in May, cause some months were worse than others. Some months, he'd wake up thinking *fuck, this's gotta be the day*, and then wake up the next day to find the desperate, clawing need ten times worse and bad enough to make him start eyeing even his baseball bat in a way it was not intended to be used outside of bad porn.

So he'd turned The Plan into The Ritual, and here he was.

After the third month, Xander had stopped even trying to wear a disguise on his trips to the little shop at the end of Main, every month on the day the hyena turned him into a great big ho. And he was pretty sure the old guy behind the counter knew none of the toys were for Xander's girlfriend. A guy didn't look that fucking miserable in a sex toy shop if he had a girlfriend who was putting out.

And girlfriends didn't usually go for vibrating butt plugs, but hey, guy with no pride left to lose anymore here, and vibrating dicks just made his arm ache by the time he got off on them. He slapped the box down on the counter. "Got batteries?"

The next part of the ritual was to take the long route through town, which always happened just after sunset, and Xander refused to admit that the walk had anything to do with any part of him hoping to hear those booted footsteps falling in next to him, catch a whiff of cigarette smoke, or see a light on in the old mansion.

Because as he walked, Xander always got angry too. Angry at Angel for being a selfish shit and deciding to offer him up for a Spike-treat without any thought of Xander's safety, angry at Willow, which he knew wasn't fair, but the longer he walked, the less he cared about fair. And he was angry at Willow because she'd rather spend time with her boyfriend than with the guy who'd made it very clear he did not want to be her boyfriend, and okay, 25 days out of the month, Xander could understand that. Really, he could.

The day of The Ritual was not one of them.

Then, he'd work his way through Oz (which never lasted long and only ended up leaving him hornier afterward), Buffy for getting away with Angel for a beach-time love-fest, and hadn't that been a laugh and a half when the happy couple had called from Santa Monica?

And then, when he was done torturing himself with the images of Slayer and Vampire cavorting on the beach all summer, he got angry at Spike, and he always saved that for last so that every ounce of that seething resentment was at full simmer by the time he finally reached the mansion.

It was sick, he knew, but fuck, what part of this crazy mixed up fun wasn't? And it didn't - hurt - quite so much if he spent the night in the room that smelled of spilled whiskey and cigarettes. He didn't have any doubts whose room it'd been.

Or whose bed.

Xander dumped the bag on the bed, watching a puff of dust rise around it and grimaced. That was the other part that sucked. The part that he noticed more now that there wasn't a Spike around to keep him focused on the naughty touching parts.

He could not stand a mess.

With a groan, Xander gave in to the compulsion, setting the bag on the night table *Heh. Is a vampire's night table a day table?* and stomping into the great room with the blanket tucked under his arm before unfurling it to shake the dust violently into the air. *Xander Harris. Vampire's summer cleaning service.*

In defiance to the urge for Hospital corners on the bed, Xander dropped the cover onto the rug, knowing he'd need it clean later, and threw his shirt after it, toeing out of his shoes while he worked on the buckle of his pants.

Almost automatic now, the fourth part of the ritual. He'd found that the hyena would cut him a break if he'd at least offer himself to Spike. Whether Spike was actually there or not. He figured Spike's scent in the bed probably helped too. And it wasn't his fault if the bleached menace had jilted him.

*Wait a minute. Jilted? Great. Any minute now, I am going to turn into an actual woman.*

Dropping his pants and boxers irritably on the floor, and forcefully resisting the impulse to stop and fold them neatly, Xander snatched up the paper bag and crawled to the center of the bed, sitting cross-legged, and dumping the bag's contents onto the mattress.

A few more months, and the whole needy hyena thing might even go from not-entirely-wiggy to completely-normal, and that ought to be fun if Angel came back and moved back into the mansion. He'd have to make a point of strolling naked through the living room like a crazy cousin whenever Angel had guests-

Xander looked down at himself in horror as his cock sat up and took notice. *No. Bad. Walking naked in front of Angel is a Bad thing.*

*God. You're such a Jezebel. You're supposed to be a teenaged guy's best friend, not a big fat traitor to the cause.*

Okay, maybe not so much traitor. Seducer. Maybe. Because he was pretty sure he'd never had Big Gay Ideas before Little Xander decided to make with the Spike addiction.

Xander felt the blush spread over his cheeks as he picked up the new tube of lubricant, and remembered why he'd run out early. Because once a month gay-type needs under the influence of the hyena was one thing. Maybe not normal, but regular Hellmouthy hijinks of a highly sexual nature. Fine.

Getting curious while whacking off and using half a tube of lubricant trying to jam his own hand up his ass because it felt good when the hyena wasn't making demands was something completely different. Especially when it'd meant he'd come harder than he'd ever come before in his life.

And since, at last calculation, by age seventeen and three quarters, he'd come somewhere around six-thousand, two-hundred, and seventy-six times, that was a hell of an orgasm.

A shudder rippled through Xander's belly and he took a deep, steadying breath, tearing open the package of lube and setting it aside. "Right. Naked in Spike's bed. Check. You hear that, Hyena? I don't suppose we could skip parts five and six could we, and just get straight to the feeling dirty and guilty afterward?"

Something deep within answered with a wave of need strong enough to leave Xander's hands shaking and make him shift on the bed, fingers clenched with the effort of keeping his hands out of-

*Off. Off of.*

-himself.

"Okay. I didn't think so. Right. Part. Part five."

Xander didn't bother with the tape on the box of the butt plug or batteries, fumbling them quickly into their compartments and snapping the cover shut again. He didn't bother testing anything though, because buying them was one thing, but returning a sex toy for a refund? A guy had to draw the line somewhere.

Part five, otherwise known as: "The Preparation" was easier the sooner he started. Resisting the hyena...just didn't happen. He'd been ready to take it dry twice over the last three months if he'd been able to jam the thing in without lube.

So. Part five was lube. And lots of it.

And Jesus, the plug had looked a lot smaller in the store.

Xander could handle it looking big; he'd had big in him thanks to Spike, and there was something he would never be admitting out loud. No. Xander just wished it didn't look so good because it looked so big.

The aching tingle was all ready rippling from the base of his spine, making Xander groan as he rose onto his knees, keeping his eyes on the plug, and on the remote cord coiling from its base with obscene...purpose.

Purpose he wasn't going to analyze.

Because Xander knew he couldn't blame wanting vibrations on the hyena since he was pretty sure Spike's cock had never actually vibrated in him.

His fingers shook as he uncapped the lubricant sending a gush of the slick stuff, far more than he needed to coat his fingers. It slid across his hand, and dripped coldly onto his thigh in a way that almost felt like a brush of chilled tongue, and that ratcheted up the hormones until Xander was nearly ready to sob. He leaned forward, quickly stabbing two fingers within himself, rocking from the force and unusual angle, just far enough down to catch a whiff of the bed's scent, tobacco, whiskey.

He thought he could smell sex, too, but that might only have been him.

Literally.

Xander bit his lip, head lowering between his shoulders as he pressed against his spread hole with a third shaky, awkward finger, wriggling his hips back when the angle wouldn't let him move his hand in. God, he missed the thrusting.

That was the only thing he missed.

Honest.

With a muffled moan, he grabbed the plug with his free hand, and got on with part six of the plan. Dropping his face to the mattress, he groped behind him, senses filled with coldhardtip and smokewhiskeyspike and all of his nerves felt as if they were on fire.

And if he missed rough fingers grasping his hips or a rougher voice whispering nasty things in his ear, calling him a whore, calling him Spike's, telling him how dirty, nasty, filthy he was, letting himself be used, and loving every second of it-

Because he wasn't missing that voice. Wasn't missing anything but that cold hard cock.

Xander arched back and pressed, feeling his muscles spasm in protest against the slick bulk of the plug as it shot through, sending a bolt of pleasurepain straight up his spine and down into his balls that left him trembling and clutching at a fist-full of sheets. He lowered his face back against them to rub his cheek into the soft cotton, lips moving in a name, a plea there was just no way he was going to say out loud, no matter how badly the hyena wanted to.

No matter how badly he wanted to.

The cord tickled Xander's thigh, a constant reminder, and his hand shook so badly when he fumbled for the remote that he dropped it twice before finding the control switch because he was already so fucking hard. Breathing harshly, he closed his eyes, squeezing around the immobile silicone, needing the shocks it sent flaring through his nerves, and let his mind wander, conjuring the rest in his head.

Spike kneels on the mattress behind him, so light it barely dips, and runs a cold hand over Xander's ass.

Xander never touches himself during this part, only imagines, because his hands are hot. Damp with nervous sweat and lube, only imagines.

"All this for me then, pet? Lovely. Lovely. Couldn't even wait for me, could you?" Spike crouches over him, not close enough to touch, no body head, only that voice. That growling voice. "Slut. You'd even have Angelus now if he took a fancy to you, wouldn't you?"

Xander shook his head in denial, even as his cock jumped at the mention of Angelus, and he so didn't want to bring Angel into this even in his head. As he shook his head, his hair brushed the silvery scar at the nape of his neck, and he moaned. That touch, that touch, he could turn into Spike.

"Can't have him. Won't let you, boy. You're mine to do with as I please. I've marked you proper, haven't I?"

Xander nodded, lips shaping the words even as he heard them in his head, and tightened his grip on the remote until it cut into his hand, unconsciously rocking his hips backwards toward that phantom presence.

Spike's hand brushes his lower back, making Xander's spine dip and arch, offering his hole desperately to the touch he wants, craves, and then, he feels the cool pressure of Spike's fingers along the stretched edges of his hole and feels lukewarm breath against his ear again, whispering. "Turn this on, pet. Show me how much you need it. Show me how much you need me. Show me why you couldn't wait. I want to watch you come before I fuck you."

Convulsively, he flipped the switch to full power, crying out with the sudden shock that thrust him forward, made him drop the remote at the buzz that felt like it's filling him, burning him, electrocuting him from the inside out until all he could do was clutch desperately at the sheets, rocking against air and scent, and memory, and, "Spike!"

The orgasm hurt with its intensity, dropping Xander, quivering against the mattress, unwieldy fingers grappling with the plug inside him, trying to get a grip on its slippery edges before it became too much. A second, harsher climax tore through him before he jerked the toy from his body, dropping it onto the mattress and rolling away. His breath was harsh in the near-silence of the room as he gasped for air, already feeling the emptiness creep in on him again.

*Spike....*