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| Baby Talk |
| Title: Baby Talk
Author: Scarlet Pairing: Xander/Spike Rating: NC-17 Archive: Ask and you shall receive. Feedback: Oh please, yes, yes, yes! Email: scarletsfiction@yahoo.com Authors Web Site: www.oocities.org/scarletsfiction Disclaimers: Joss owns all and I just play with them. Authors Notes: This was in response to a challenge issued by someone during one of Willa’s challenges but now I can’t find the person or the link. She challenged ice cream, ribbons, and liberal use of the word “baby”, I think. Spoilers: Set during season 4. No huge spoilers that I know of. Summary: Spike gets hurt. And when Spike’s hurt, he can be such a baby…. ____________________________________________________ Examine what is said, not him who speaks. Arab Proverb True to his geek heritage, he's watching Star Trek when he hears the thumping at the door. He ignores it, knowing Buffy would have called first if she was coming over (and who else would stop by the Bates Motel at midnight?) and speculates on the superiority of TNG to Voyager. "Lemme in, Harris!" He hasn't done an official uninvite. Somehow, it's never seemed urgent or important. He tells himself it's no big deal, why bother Willow when she's got enough on her mind? New classes and her new girlfriend and "I'm sure he's long gone by now," which he never really believed, but the girls didn't seem to care either way. Not that he does, either. Care, that is. Because now showing is the episode *right before* Picard goes Borg and sometimes channel 7 plays the episodes back to back. The thundering at the door grows louder. "If you don't let me in, I'll pound down this door, you prat! Let me in!" Xander lazily leans off the couch and flicks the deadbolt, not looking away from the television or losing hold of the bowl in his hand. He feels Spike enter before he sees him. "What the hell happened to you?" Xander has a mouthful of mint chocolate chip so it comes out something like, "Wa-ah head hepin-oo?" "Ran into your mum and had tea." Spike sneers from beneath lopsided false lashes. Garish plum lipstick coats his lips and cheeks, and his hands and feet are trussed with long pieces of torn silk ribbon. Xander swallows hard and casts his eyes upstairs, momentarily afraid that Spike is telling the truth. "No, really. What happened to you? Mary Kay seminar get out of hand?" Spike tugs on the overhead light in the bathroom and tries to kick the door shut, but Xander gets there first. He shoves his foot in the door. "This isn't a Holiday Inn, you know." "I know, the roaches are smaller at Holiday Inn." "Spike, Spike, Spike. In case you've forgotten, you're a hostage. Or you were, but you can't just come and go whenever--" The last of the mint chocolate chip rolls in his stomach. "Oh my god--what happened?" Xander realizes that he's bordering on shrill so he consciously tries not to appear overly interested in the bloody cuts and gashes that stripe the vampire's arms and cheeks. "Bloody frat boys hopped up on power and cheap alcohol. Fucking . . . fucking humans." Spike tries again, in vain, to kick the bathroom door shut behind him. Xander elbows his way inside and looks at the wounds in the better light. "So did they beat you up before or after they gave you a makeover?" "You know, Harris, if you can't be any help then sod off and play with your Matchbox cars. I just need a place to . . . clean up." His last words are muttered as he begins to run water in the sink. Xander stands awkwardly at the door, then takes pity and passes the vampire a washcloth. Once Spike's peeled off sticky silver eyelashes and scrubbed his face until it bleeds—literally—Xander digs the first-aid kit out from its well-used spot under the bathroom sink. "Follow me." "It's just a few cuts. I can bloody well do it myself. Don't need a nursemaid." "Right. Okay, then do it yourself." Xander indicates the bathroom mirror smugly. "Hope that works out well for you." He plops himself back on the couch and shovels the last two bites of ice cream into his mouth. Eventually, there is an uncomfortable throat-clearing-sound from the other side of the basement. "Say. It." Xander does not turn his eyes from Troi's cleavage on screen. "Xander," Spike grits out, "will you be a bloody white hat and help me doctor a few insignificant cuts?" "Gee, you don't have to *beg*, Spike. I mean, it's kind of—" Spike growls low in his throat, a sound that has Xander both frightened and . . . Okay, maybe a little bit groiny, though he'll never admit that out loud without sodium pentathol. Xander stands, picks up a chair, and tries hard to squelch the strange sense of anticipation he's experiencing. "Sit here." Spike sits, and Xander opens the kit on the couch, removing alcohol and Band-Aids. He works slowly, taking care to clean his wounds thoroughly and making special efforts to apply alcohol generously to the deepest cuts, which have Spike squinting and growling, wiggling away from Xander's ministrations. "Oi! That hurts, you bastard!" "Hold still! Quit being such a baby!" "Not being a baby. You're worse than an Inquisitor! And I should know." "No, you shouldn't. I may have failed history twice, but even *I* know the Inquisition—Hold still! Damn, you are such a baby!" Spike growls again, this time both deeper and louder than before. "I dare you to say that again, Harris." Xander weighs the odds of a chip malfunction and certain death to niggling an obvious sore spot of his sworn enemy. It's really no contest. He dabs a sopping cotton ball over a cut on Spike's shoulder and whispers, "Big. Baby." The growl gets louder. "Yep, diapers and pureed carrots. A big... fat…baby." "Say. That. Again." Spike scowls, eyes tinged gold. Xander knows he is treading in dangerous territory. "Don't tease the vampire" is the motto he's lived by for four years, and now here he is, indulging in a good round of "Kick Spike When He's Down". Still... He slaps a plastic Band-Aid over the cut and takes special care to smooth down the sticky tabs. His fingers linger on the edges of the plastic where they give way to cool skin. The bandage is much darker than Spike’s pale skin. Xander stares at it with fascination, then shakes away his momentary reverie. "Yep, it's time to buy a crib and check out preschools because Spike is one big, fat—" Then Spike is launching himself from the chair and tackling Xander to the ground. Xander finds himself held by the throat and pinned at the waist by a hundred and some odd pounds of decidedly non-baby vampire and why did he think the chip would keep him safe again? "Say it again." And somehow he can't help muttering it again because he's learned a long time ago that if you're going to die, you might as well get the last word, right? "Baby, baby... baby." Spike growls low again, brings his face down until he is eye to eye and nose to nose. "Say. It. Again." "Baby," he chokes, under Spikes strangely smooth hand. "Baby," he repeats, and feels the breath stolen from his lungs as Spike shifts and Xander feels the vampire's erection straining under his jeans. Spike's thigh slides against him as he shifts, rubbing Xander's cock to hardness and his libido to full tilt. "Say it again." It's whispered an inch from his lips. Then the vampire's mouth is moving slowly, ghosting cool breath over Xander's burning skin. Xander has never thought of himself as the brightest bulb in the chandelier. So it's no wonder his ice cream and TNG hazed brain choose this moment to catch up and realize Spike isn't taunting him. He isn't tormenting or threatening. He's making a request. Xander swallows hard, then, "Baby." It’s a whispered ghost of sound, libidinous for its timidity. A smile flickers at the edge of Spike's mouth. "Baby." Slightly louder, looking into in Spike's eyes—eyes that look so vulnerable, Xander isn't sure why he's never called Spike baby before and isn't *that* just the wiggiest thing since Velcro? "Say it again," Spike gasps near Xander's ear, accompanied by a hip grind and a soft suckle on the dangling lobe of skin. Xander gives a full body shudder; the basement floor is cold and drafty. "B-baby," he gasps, as his own hips rock up to meet Spike's. "Baby." Firmer now, almost seductive, and Spike's hands release Xander's throat, then trail down his chest and slide beneath his tee. Xander can do nothing but hold onto the vamp by each solid bicep and keep him there as he pushes upward, upward, grinding desperately, deliciously upward. "Oh…baby..." Xander draws his head back, tucking his own lip into his mouth and biting it so he doesn't say anything more. Doesn't…beg. Spike lifts his head up, cocking it to the side, unsure. "Say it again?" Xander let's one hand slide from Spike's arm to the small of his back, holding him close and pushing them together. "Please, baby?" And now he's too far gone to worry that begging a vampire—a vampire that he *hates *--to dry hump him in a damp basement might be a bit... desperate. He turns his head and pants deeply, minty chocolate breath whispering over Spike's cheek. "Baby." That word shouldn't do the things it does. It shouldn't tease and inflame. It shouldn't burn. Saying it, hearing it. It floats between them like soap bubbles too thick to pop. "Baby." And all the times he's imagined it being said, never has he imagined it quite this way. Never moaned from his *own* mouth to reach the ears of his enemy, oppressor, the one he’s both resented and coveted for two years. Spike's lips slide over Xander's neck, back to this soft sprouting of dark hair that peeks out under the collar of his shirt. The ceiling is water-spotted. There's a stain that looks like a bird, another like a flying saucer. "Say it again, Harris." Somehow it's more intimate, this way. Harris, not Xander. "Baby." Xander pushes and rocks and demands friction as Spike does the same, pinning, pushing, pressing hard flesh together. Spike is licking his neck and, even though Xander knows this is a Very Bad Idea, he groans softly and whispers again, "Baby." "You're so damn hot, Harris. Baby. " And now Xander knows. Knows the power of that word. He cries out then, on the verge of exploding into a delicious mass of ice cream and molecules. Xander shoves up, moving with what puny human strength he has, until the trembling vampire is below him. The room's not big and one turn brings them under his crappy TV. He was wrong. No Borg tonight, he thinks inanely. Spike looks surprised at the shift in position, but not displeased. His mouth is open and his tongue pushes his lower lip out, making it wet and shiny. It would be a patented Spike look if not for the gentle shaking and the subtle hip thrusts that tell Xander the vampire is ripe and ready to pop. "You like being up there? Baby?" Spike seems to add as an afterthought. Xander muzzily nods his head and rolls his hips down, earning a loud groan. Then Xander sits up, straddles Spikes' hips and begins running his hands over t-shirted pectorals, slim shoulders, down to the tattered red remnants on Spike's white wrists. Xander takes hold of them and yanks, pulling the vamp's hands up and over his head. He's spread out for Xander now, his vampire. His…baby. Xander smiles. "Say it again." The End |