How To Make A Xander Do Anything

"Do you trust me?"

Oh fuck. Unholy glee is Spike's best color and I am screwed.

"Uh."

"Best answer yes, luv, if you want to test the goodies." He's dropping a hand to his crotch and that is so fucking unfair.

You know why that's unfair?

"The goodies are still healing, Spike. No taunting me with healing goodies."

Yeah, cause he's got new metal. No goodies for the Xand-man for another three days. He swears it's a Christmas present, but after a week and a half of Spike playing cock-tease, I'd weep with joy for a doggie-style quickie.

"But I might have a toy for you. Something better than healing goodies."

Okay, for that he just gets a look. A look that I really hope to God's telling him what a dumb thing that was to say.

"I didn't say better than healed goodies, pillock. I said better than healing goodies."

"Okay. Fine. What've you got? And if it's not kinky and buzzy, I'm probably not gonna be impressed right now." So I'm sulking a little. Man, I need to get laid.

Then if he doesn't whip out the biggest goddamned electric razor I've ever seen.

"What the fuck, Spike?"

"C'mon, pet. Trust me. Gotta trust me."

"Uh, not when you're holding that monster."

"It buzzes."

"That was not what I had in mind. Itching and ingrown hairs are not sexy, Spike."

"Who said I'd planned to use it anywhere you'd itch and have ingrown hairs?"

And then I'm following those blue eyes up to my scalp and. "Uh-uh. No. Nuh-uh. No way."

"Uh huh." He's already curving up that smug smile that knows he's gonna get his way.

"How the hell is this better than healing goodies?"

Spike stops his advance, just kinda looks at me with that sexy head tilt he's got that can make me get down on my knees and crawl. "Never had a shaved head, then?"

"Uh. No."

"Oh, mate. Don't know what you're missing out on. Right, then. Here. You do me first."

And then he's swinging around, plunking right down on the floor and handing the electric razor to me.

"From the back up, and the front back, luv. The guards'll keep the length nice and even."

"You're mad."

"As a hatter. Get on with it, pet. Got a kink to be sharing, don't I? And the night's young."

"You sure about this?"

He looks me dead in the eyes. Well, eye. "You ever known me to fuck around, pet?"

"Not that way."

"Right, then." He drags his tee-shirt over his head and tosses it, resting his elbows on his knees and wiggling back into the vee of my legs. "Turn that bad boy on and shave me down."

So I do.

And it's freaky, but he's right. It is kind of a turn on, like a whole new kind of naked, seeing the bones of his skull for the first time, feeling that soft-rough virgin stubble under my palms. He should look tough with his hair sheared down to just this side of nothing, but instead, he looks . . . delicate. Like the time I had to take care of an egg as if it was a baby in high school.

That kind of delicate.

"Shave it all, pet."

When I turn the razor off, my hands are tingly-numb, so that first pass over his shaved head, I can feel it all the way up my arm, and when he leans back into my hands with that thing between a sneer and a groan he does, I can feel the feathery tingles all the way down in my balls. "Wow."

"Like it, luv?"

"Wow," I say again, cause sometimes, that's all I've got. Running my hands up from the nape of his neck, the hair's all soft-prickly, and leaves the skin of my hands super sensitive. Running my hands back to his nape, the hair slicks down like otter, then pops up just enough to tickle the edges of my hands, and between my fingers.

It's fucking hypnotic.

Then he leans his head back between my legs, and rolls it back and forth, real slow, brushing the little bristles against my palms, skating my skin across his forehead, and unh who gets this hard feeling a head?

"Like it?"

"Asshole. From where you're sitting, you know I like it."

He opens his mouth in that fucking evil silent laugh, and rubs the top of his head against me like a cat looking for treats. "Unzip, pet."

"Uh. Itchy, and I'm thinking . . . no."

Spike snorts, and twists up around, grabs my wrists, and plants my hands firmly on his skull, unzips me, and licks a long wet stripe right up my poor aching dick. I think I whimper when his tongue stud pops up and over the head, and it's a good thing he doesn't have any hair left, cause I'd be ripping it out about now. His ears may be in jeopardy.

"Light bulbs coming on yet, luv?"

"Guh," I say, and hope like hell it sounds wise, cause it's all I got.

He nods approval. "Dim, but it'll do." And hope to tell you what happens next, but he's sucking my brains out through my dick and excavating whole new nerve clusters with that bit of evil evil metal in his tongue till I'm about ready to do anything, promise anything, give and forgive anything if he'll just do it again.

And then you know what he does?

He freaking stops!

"Spike!"

"Gonna let me shave you?"

"Spike!" Okay! I sobbed! I am a man secure in my sexuality!

Watch.

I'll even beg: "Please!"

He jacks his hand on me, once, twice; I'm so fucking close and the bastard stops again. "Gonna let me shave your head?" I try to hump up into his fist, but he just locks his fingers down around me. Tight.

Bastard, bastard, bastard!

"Xan-derrrr." So close to my dick I can feel every puff of breath.

"Yes, yes, yes! You can shave my head, my legs, my fucking balls; will you just finish?!"

And I am so not the guy to come to if you ever want someone who can withstand psychological torture.

"That's my boy," and he probably says something else too, but I'm too busy having the top blown off my skull to hear it.