Crisis Time And The Music Of Pain

"Hah!"

Spike pried open a bleary eye, focusing it on Xander. "Is there a purpose for this 'Hah,' pet, or shall I throttle you and go back to sleep?"

"It was a 'Hah' of mighty vindication!"

"Right, then. Still dreaming." Spike rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head, but not enough to muffle his words. "You'd never use the word 'vindication' if you were awake."

"Ah, but this is a special occasion, my un-dead peach."

Spike flung the pillow from his head and sat up in alarm. "Did you just call me your un-dead peach? Pet, are you feverish?"

"Hey, can't a man come up with a fluffy nickname?"

"Not when it's calling William the Bloody his un-dead peach!"

"Got you awake, didn't it?"

Spike groaned, and flopped back into the pillows. "Tell me why before I make you nice and dead and quiet."

"That was a lot more scary back when you still might've actually killed me," Xander pointed out.

"Get on with it."

"Okay, okay. A study was not only released, but awarded some prize for proving that there's a higher rate of suicide in people who listen to Country music."

Spike snorted, pulling the blankets back up around his ears. "Probably having it played morning, noon, and night time by their chatty newspaper-reading sweethearts and killed themselves to get a moment's peace and sleep."

"Ha ha, Spike. No, but see? This proves I'm right!"

"Once more, backing up with a bit of explanation, luv?"

"Country music, my music of pain. It is the music of pain. It's not just me. I'm right!"

"Let me get this straight, luv. You're happy that you're in a high risk group for suicide?"

"Spike, I am a young American male suffering a crisis of sexuality. I'm already in the highest risk group there is."

"Xander, sweetheart, pet, we've been shagging for months now, and you're still having a crisis?"

"Okay, so it's a very small crisis these days. A crisette? Is that a word? There should be a word for a small crisis."

"Pet, if it's small, it's not a crisis of any sort."

"Oh, no. No, I know a crisis when I have one, and this, Spike, is a crisis."

"So you don't want me to do this, then?" Spike reached down, sliding his palm up and down Xander's leg, watching him with a lifted eyebrow.

"See, that doesn't endanger my sexuality, Spike. A hand is a hand. It doesn't mean anything," Xander said, losing only a little bit of credibility as his legs shifted apart under the touch, rubbing back against Spike's hand.

"And what if I did this?" Spike turned his head, mouthing the outline of Xander's cock through the bed sheets, watching the flush spread up his chest and over his cheeks through lowered eyelashes and rumpled hair.

Xander groaned, sliding down the headboard, fingers hovering above Spike's head, then burying in his hair. "I'm a guy, Spike. What guy in his right mind would turn down a blow job from someone who didn't need to breathe?"

"Could make an argument about you being in your right mind, pet, wanting a blow job from a vampire. Pointy teeth, and all that, right?" Spike rose onto his arms, insinuating himself between Xander and the sheets and looking him over. "Now, I suppose if you're having that crisis of sexuality, I certainly wouldn't find you still slicked from a proper shag a few hours ago?"

"Spike!" Xander yelped as he was grabbed and flipped, cold fingers probing between his buttocks to the sound of a definitely evil (evil!) chuckle.

"Well what do you know. And I suppose you definitely wouldn't want me to do this."

"Nuh-ah!" Xander answered, with absolute coherence, thrusting back at Spike to take all of him, face buried in the pillow that still held the scent of Spike's hair gel.

"Suppose I should stop thrusting?" Spike asked, leaning down to murmur right into Xander's ear. "Maybe that wiggling's telling me to get out of you because I'm an evil bloodsucking fiend?"

"You are evil," Xander grunted, thrusting back against Spike.

"So what're you doing listening to music of pain when you've got me to provide all the pain you could possibly want and with a better soundtrack?" Spike purred the words. A deft hand sneaked around Xander's waist, thumb teasing across the moisture slicking the head of Xander's cock, then retreated, audibly, into Spike's mouth. "Well part of you isn't having a crisis."

"Spike?" Xander asked, getting a little breathless.

"Hmm. Yeah, pet?"

"Crisis over."

"Gay now?"

"So fucking gay. So make with the fucking."