"God, you're a messy eater. Come here." Cool hands eased the body from Xander's arms and let it drop, and a chill tongue traced Xander's features until he felt the demon slide away, and closed his eyes, letting Spike lick the traces of blood from his face and hair.

It was embarrassing. Like his grandma licking her handkerchief and scrubbing his face before Mass when he was a kid. Okay, but maybe a little nicer, and less disgusting.

Uh. A lot nicer, Xander decided, realizing that he'd been quietly and subtly humping against the crates Spike sat on since the moment his sire's tongue had swept over his skin.

Sure, first bite had been messy, but it wasn't his fault. Nobody ever told him blood would spurt like that and get all over the place, and he'd gotten it in his eye too.

"That you did," Spike agreed, sucking the last of the coppery goodness from Xander's eyebrow and pushing him away to look him over. Oh. He'd said that out loud? "You did well, pet. Bit a little too deep into the carotid before you clamped down right, but it's like hard liquor. You'll get used to it once it stops goin' up your nose."

"I want more," Xander said, blinking slowly in the dim alley light. He felt all tingly. Hard. Achy-itchy inside. He rubbed up against Spike's knee, head ducked into the scent of Sire's throat. And huh?! Why had nobody told him vampires could purr? How cool was that?

"Well you are a growing boy, aren't you?" The accent wrapped around Xander like dark chocolate, and the way cool hands passed through his hair made Xander want to just purr harder, keep rocking against that hard knee until he came. Lick the lingering smoke off the skin of Spike's throat. Sire-taste.

So. Fucking. Perfect.

There'd been a lot of things Giles never told them about vampires.

Like how good it all felt. Like he didn't give a shit who walked around that next corner. And if they had anything to say about him sucking face with an evil fiend, he'd rip their throats out instead of stammering, stuttering, and running away. Or getting the crap beaten out of him.

Spike grabbed his hair, hard, and before he could growl, Xander found his mouth invaded by the taste of copper and cigarettes, his hip grasped by strong fingers. "That's right, boy. Right here. Show me how much you liked that kill. Show me you love your Sire."

It was like there was a switch in his brain that turned on to those words, dropping him to his knees and sending him nuzzling into the denim-and-leather scent of Spike's groin, and who knew he could undo a fly that fast, or that it felt so good having a solid cock down his throat when he didn't need to breathe.

Siresiresire. Better than Cordy's kisses. Better than inexperienced hands in a broom closet and soft bits rubbing against him. This was evidence of want, blatant need, and all because of him.

Because he was getting it all right with Spike, and Spike couldn't get enough. Of him!

"Yeah, that's my good boy." Spike sounded breathless, neat trick for a vampire, and his nails dug into Xander's scalp, sending a sharp spike of yes! to his aching cock. "My sweet boy, you and me? We're gonna rule the bloody Hellmouth. You mark my words." Hands and words melted around Xander like sweet syrup, filling him with that perfect no-questions-asked high he couldn't get enough of. "Suck harder, yeah, there. Buggering fuck! God, yeah, that mouth." The fingers tightened, until Xander could feel hairs ripping free from their follicles before Spike tensed, and Xander pulled back, gasping unnecessary air as jet after jet of cool come spurted over lips, tongue, cheeks, eyes, bathing him in Sire-scent so strong.

He fell back on his heels with a desperate whine of needneedneed, fingers scrambling for his zipper, yanking himself out, jerking hard and fast until he came, splattering against the boxes with a groan pulled all the way up from his dick. His eyes filled with moonlight, sire, and come, salt on his lips, and the aftertaste of warm human blood until he wanted to curl up, find that purr again, and rest. Because everything was right.

Soft hands trailed over his face, gathering the moisture from cheeks and hair and pressing it to his lips, feeding it to him sucked off of fingers pale as bone, Spike's other hand stroking his hair like a beloved pet. "Still a messy eater," Spike said, chuckling when Xander scraped blunt human teeth over his fingers, hungrily seeking out every last drop of that taste, craved as much as blood. "Beautiful boy. Only good thing Angelus ever gave me." The fingers withdrew, and Xander followed them up, up, and out of reach until he was pressed against Spike's chest again, leather and strong arms wrapping him while his head spun, and a gentle tongue cleaned the last traces from his face.

"Hey, pal. Not beautiful." Xander mumbled his words to Spike's coat, rubbing his lips against the wrinkly-smooth texture of old leather. "Manly, and rugged here."

Strong hands jerked Xander upright, pulling his head from its comfortable rest against Spike's shoulder, and he found himself looking into eyes of amused blue. "Big puppy eyes like that, those cowlicks in your hair? Those lips made for wrapping around my dick? I'd call you beautiful, pet. Now lift me up. We'd best be going from here before the next shift comes lookin' for these two layabouts."

"Where are we going?" Xander asked, sliding his arms beneath Spike's legs, and under his back, nuzzling as Spike patted himself down for cigarette and lighter, holding still through the snap and flare of flame, and first billow of sharp smoke.

"Well now. What does a healthy young bloke usually go looking for after a good dinner?"

"Third shift at the Donut House goes on break in fifteen minutes."

"There you are, smart lad." Spike waved a hand, the cherry of his cigarette describing a bright arc in the air. "We'll have dessert."

Xander smelled smoke before he rounded the last corner and saw the flames spewing from the factory.

"Fucking buggering sodding bloody hell, Angelus! What's that pillock done now?!" Spike jerked forward in Xander's arms, and he stumbled, almost dropping him before tightening his arms, stepping quickly backwards into the shadows.

"Gotten killed?" Xander guessed hopefully. "Deader?"

"Not bleeding likely. Got bolt holes everywhere in there. Buggering fuck! What was he thinking?" Spike slammed a fist into the wall, brick and mortar crumbling around his fingers. "We've got to find a place before dawn."

Xander swallowed. "I think I know some place we can go."

"Where?"

Images of a snapped gin-soaked neck and staring eyes, bloodied throat dripping into white camisole flickered behind Xander's eyes. "Home." It wasn't as if his parents needed the place anymore. "It's not much of a lair. But it's got heavy curtains. And a basement." Flames reflected in blue eyes, wide, angry, and suspiciously moist. "And lots of booze?"

"Right. Let's go, then. When I get my hands on that tosser, he'll wish the Slayer'd got to him first."