This one's for Metaforgirl.
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"But you better be quiet," Xander said, rolling his hips against Spike's hand. That heat, slipping and sliding against his palm, burned its way up his arm. Spike squeezed his eyes shut, closing his fingers around the base, feeling Xander mimic it.
Stay quiet? How the fuck was he supposed to do that?
"Yeah," Xander said, leaning in, kissing the tip of Spike's nose. "Like super mega-quiet, man. Quiet as the grave! With a dead cat in it! If you can handle it."
The boy sounded altogether too pleased with himself, so before he could build up much steam on this particular babble, Spike shook his head and shifted out of reach. He didn't let go, of course -- what was he, stupid? No. -- but it did have the pleasant effect of quieting Xander for the moment. Until he opened his mouth again, and Spike just sighed. "Not me I'm worried about, mate."
"Wha--?" Outrage and confusion warred for dominance over Xander's face; the main battlefields were the eyebrows and opening, now closing, now //damn it, boy will never learn the value of moderation// opening again. "B-b-but--"
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This was outrageous. Mr. Stamp and Snarl telling *him* to be quiet?
Spike smirked. "Jes' what I said. *I* can be quiet."
"Hell, no," Xander sputtered, and sputtering in a whisper? That just wasn't ever going to come naturally to him.
"Quiet as a wee little churchmouse, if I need to be." He nodded to himself, and his smug look, all narrowed eyes and lifted brows, reminded Xander just why it was he had never been able to stand the guy. Even if he was, like, really rad in bed. "Holy lil churchmouse, that's me."
"Me? You're worried about me?" Crap, that was loud.
Spike whistled a long shushing sound through his teeth and shook his head like this was all just so boring for him. Xander, however, knew he wasn't bored. Not by a long shot. This was way worse than a dare, worse even than a double dare, and--
"Hey! No fair!" Spike was squeezing his dick in the most annoying and, well, pretty wonderful, little sequence of pulses. Nice soft cool hand, and if it was a little harder, then maybe he'd make noise, but--
"Yes?" Spike whispered. Glint in his stupid teasing eyes. "Sorry, what was that?"
Right, they were getting well past double-dare territory with every little //jesus-god-amazing// squeeze, and Xander was not, definitely not, going to lose this one, no matter how good that felt. He opened his own fingers and started brushing the patch of pubes just over Spike's cock back and forth, slowly, idly as he could stand it. "Hmm?" Xander said.
He petted the hair the way he'd admire someone's baby: not with much interest, but polite. Not that he petted babies, that would just be weird, but otherwise, yeah--
Spike ran his thumbnail up the underside of Xander's cock, and Xander couldn't help it; Harris Jr. liked that, and twitched. "Jesus, Spike!" Xander hissed. The nail began a tortuous descent, taking little jaunts off the main trail, and Xander sucked in his breath and held it. He was not going to thrust. No way was he crying uncle this early.
"You still here?" Spike asked innocently. "Thought you'd fallen asleep."
Xander grinned and swept his fingers down. Spike hissed: not really a sound, but getting close. Down the little cleft between Spike's balls, and then he set to petting and brushing and generally rearranging the nap as slowly as he could.
"'Course you're not asleep," Spike said. "I'd've heard *that*. Not just sawing logs with you, is it? More like cuttin' a sequoia with pen knife." His icy thumb pressed the base of Xander's cock, and it was twitching on its own now, Xander was just going to have to emancipate the poor thing and let it out into the world. He couldn't be responsible for the traitor.
"Unconscious, then? Little Xander-coma?" Spike's voice was hoarse in the quiet, wheedling, with a weird //Not desperate, can't be desperate. Spike, desperate?// edge to it.
Xander spread his fingers over the top of Spike's thigh, gripping into the crease and brushing his thumb knuckle along the back of his ballsac. "You're the one talking," he observed. And in case the world's densest vampire didn't get that, he flicked back at the sac and grazed Spike's perineum. Spike moaned for half a second before Xander clapped his hand over his mouth.
Which was a stupid thing to do, he realized, too late as usual, because, well, cool tongue, sharp teeth. And, ooh, *strong* cool tongue sucking his finger inside.
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So it was apparently war?
Spike had seen more war than ever wet the dreams of Xander's little Playstation gurus. Sneaky, guerrilla war, no-holds-barred, *fuck* the rules of engagement and just *win* war.
The hand on his mouth was just a temporary setback, thank you *very* much.
He suckled Xander's finger, starting at the tip, getting up a nice swirl of the tongue, before sucking back hard and tugging it to nudge the root of his tongue. He had to admire the pup for staying quiet this long; he probably wouldn't have lasted, himself. Xander's eyes were fluttering closed, and his little pink tongue sped out, moistening his lips, as he worked his knuckle in appallingly aggravating circles that never got quite close enough to Spike's hole.
Spike squirmed and nipped at the knuckle and tugged Xander's cock with a couple strong, confident moves.
That did it. Xander's mouth opened, and it was dark and wet, and Spike had to close his eyes for just a second because the sight of that soft wet tongue might well send him over the edge. So, just one second more, and victory would be his, because Xander was going to say something--
"Truce?"
*Shit*.
Spike nodded desperately, wriggling under the hands on him. He blinked, he hoped, enthusiastically. Xander looked him over, grinning slowly, and if Dawn wasn't in the next room, Spike knew *exactly* what he'd do to the kid for making him endure this impossibly frustrating lengthy appraisal.
It involved the flat of his palm, and possibly cuffs.
And he could wait.
Xander nodded slowly and licked his lips again. "Not crossing your fingers on this, are you?"
Spike shook his head violently.
Definitely cuffs for that. Maybe even a little humiliating skirt or something.
"Why don't I believe you?" Xander mused.
//'Cause I'm the big bloody bad, and I know ways to torture that won't leave a bruise for *weeks*. Berk.//
Except what came out of his mouth sounded a lot more like: "squirrkbibble?"
"Yeah," Xander whispered. "Guess I'll just have to trust you on this one." He slipped his hand off Spike's mouth, getting one last slurpy suck and nip for his impertinence, and sat back on his heels.
Except his thumb was still doing that lazy, mindblowing dance around Spike's hole. Spike couldn't move beyond spreading his legs a little wider. Nothing if not helpful, he figured.
"Way I see it, we need to stay quiet," Xander said. "Both of us. So there's one choice here, and only one."
//Yeah, okay, fine, tell me what the hell it is and hurry up while you're at it//.
But if he opened his mouth, all hell would break loose, so Spike had to hope his eyebrows could telegraph all that without it becoming hopelessly garbled.
Xander braced his free hand beside Spike's head and swung a leg over his hips. Leaning over, he let his ever-shaggier hair brush Spike's hair, and Spike inhaled the Xander-smell: sun and musky-sweat and inestimable sweetness, purer than sugar or chocolate, but with traces of those, and more.
Puff of warm breath over his nose and mouth, and Spike opened his eyes. When had he closed them? And did Xander say something?
The creased brows and attempt at a frown told him, yeah, Xander had spoken.
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Spike looked sleepy and confused, eyes widening so the blue was glowing all on its own in the dark room, and he bit his lower lip, peering up. It was taking everything Xander had, and who knew he had this much self-control?, not to drop his weight fully down on Spike. He glanced down for a second, and saw Spike spread his thighs a little wider as he sighed. Maybe one more molecule of self-control, somewhere?
Xander slipped his hand over Spike's hip, feeling the jut of pelvis slice against his skin, and stroked his cock.
No more joking. Not with Spike staring up at him like that, almost pleading, his hips lifting and falling in tune with Xander's loose fist.
"What. Was. That. Pet." Not a question or a statement. Xander couldn't remember English class that well, but there had to be some name for what Spike was saying in harsh little gasps.
Xander lowered his head and dragged his tongue along the cold shard of cheekbone to Spike's earlobe. "Called me pet again."
Spike shook under him, trembling, his hips twitching jerkily. Xander knew exactly how this must feel. And he took pity on the poor horny vampire. He was the Scoobie heart, after all, and Mr. Empathy, and the Comfortador, and torture might be fun, but comfort felt even better. "Sixty-nine."
"Yeaaaaaahhhhh--" Spike sighed and whispered and gasped, arms going around Xander yet somehow managing to slip down and flip himself vertically.
Damn vamp speed and grace. It just wasn't fair.
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He might not be book-smart, but his Xander was people-smart, and that's what counted.
Spike wedged his head nice and tight between Xander's thighs and this was no time for preliminaries--
//What did we learn tonight, Spike?//
//Teasing's not always so nice, soul. Now sod off.//
--so he opened wide and sucked in half the shaft, gasping all over again at the heat shooting down his throat and transforming his mouth into the best kind of furnace.
When he felt the matching heat flick over his foreskin and worm its way in between skin and cockhead, Spike couldn't help it, and moaned, swallowing Xander's cock down to his tonsils, pushing his hips up, setting up a dizzy seesaw of push and pull, all the better to melt all the faster.
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Hey, he had a good idea!
Xander collapsed down on his elbows, Spike's cold shaft poking weirdly into the roof of his mouth, any discomfort nicely-astoundingly-other-big-adverbs offset by the chill enveloping his own dick, drawing him deeper.
Spike's foreskin was all but retracted and tight around his shaft, and Xander tilted his head to get more in his mouth. Air wheezed through his nose rather in long whinnies, but at least that, with a little wet echo, was the loudest thing in the room. He rubbed his tongue back against the steady stream of sharp, citrusy precum and felt Spike's teeth scraping lightly over the base of his shaft.
//Damn, the guy can *suck*.//
Luckily, being all emotion and very little macho-bullshit, Xander wasn't going to take that as any kind of challenge, just someone doing him a good turn. And he could do Spike a good turn. He cupped the tight balls in their slightly lukewarm sac and squeezed them as he sucked. Spike hissed a moan at that, not quite sound, but his energetic lapping and sucking hitched its rhythm for a second and Xander felt vibrations run from Spike's chest straight to his stomach.
Keeping a nice snug grip on Spike's balls, Xander rubbed his finger down the cleft, and Spike dug his fingers into Xander's hips, dragging him down as his own hips shot up. His cock drove back into Xander's throat and all he could do was swallow greedily as the cock danced and thrust, and grind against Spike's face as the sparks gathered and flamed their way down his spine, out his cock, and--
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--into Spike's throat, and he swalllowed fast and hard and wasn't quick enough to catch the bursts of warm, sweet cum as Xander pile-drove his head into the mattress. It leaked out his mouth and Xander kept shooting. Spike felt his own orgasm yank his hips upward and shoot bolts of lightning into the furnace of Xander's mouth.
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"I won."
"Dolt. I won, and anyone will back me up."
"Yeah? 'Cause you were really running off at the mouth there."
"You shot first, and I won. Easy as pie."
"Can't change the rules in the middle."
"Just watch me."
