"Go on, then," Spike said, sitting back on his heels. Xander stared at him until Spike lifted his chin and somehow Xander understood what to do. He unbuttoned his khakis and tried to shimmy out of them and his boxers at the same time. It wasn't pretty, and Spike didn't lift a hand to help, but eventually he got them down to his knees. Xander lifted his feet off the bed, trying really hard not to look at Spike, but his eyes kept going back.
Spike was just...sitting there, head barely cocked, hands resting on his thighs. But his eyes were wide. Glittery.
Xander kicked the tangle of pants off the bed. Every inch of his skin felt itchy and hot at the same time, tensed in anticipation, and his dick was waving hello.
"Toss me the lube."
Xander scrambled over onto his side, searching blindly for the bottle and by some miracle of crazy virgin luck finding it. He sat up and handed it to Spike. Cool fingertips brushed his wrist, and shivers wracked him head to toe.
"Breathe, pet," Spike said and finally smiled. "Don't want you passing out."
Xander gulped in big billowing breaths and tried to exhale through his nose. Yogis did that. Helped keep them centered. Or transcendent. Something like that. It didn't work. His arms and legs still felt thick as logs and just as flexible. His chest was constricted and he was pretty sure he was sweating like a pig, only he couldn't quite feel his face any more.
"Lie back down."
Xander complied, praying his elbows would hold him up. He couldn't look away from Spike. There was this desperate superstition gripping him: If he blinked or broke his gaze, everything was going to disappear. His body would just break down into molecules and they'd drift away. Spike would wink out like a star in the sunrise, never to be seen again. His apartment, Sunnydale, Dawnie -- don't think about Dawnie! Christ! -- the whole state of California would just vanish and no one would ever remember a time when Arizona didn't feature beautiful Pacific coastlines.
Spike shuffled forward on his knees until he was between Xander's legs. "You look good, Xander."
Xander nodded. His tongue seemed to have swelled to fill his whole mouth. More than that, actually, since his mouth was open and he was kind of panting shallowly. "Uh," he tried. Spike looked like this column of light, nearly unreal. Someone in the Enterprise's transporter just before they fully materialized. Gorgeous. "You too. Really--"
Spike's lips parted in something sort of like a smile, if a smile could be said to be serious and intent. He stroked the inside of Xander's thighs, and Xander felt his legs moving until his knees were bent and feet flat on the bed. Spike nodded. "Even better. So nice like that--"
Everything Spike said was hoarse and concentrated. Not gentle, and Xander didn't want gentle. He wanted *this*, whatever the fuck it was. He stroked the back of Xander's thighs, down behind his knees, drawing little ovals. Xander had never really thought about having skin back there, and good god that was a mistake. A shame. A goddamn *sin*. Twenty-two years and he'd never been touched back there where there were almost as many nerve-endings as his cockhead. Groans spilled out his mouth and his legs shook like he'd just run a 5K.
"Feels good," Spike told him and Xander nodded urgently. The wispy little brushing strokes were torture, so good that his lizard brain was getting ready to black out and come, he was sure of it. "Want me, Xan?"
Xander was nodding so hard his head was going to fall off. He tried to push himself up so he was sitting, but Spike pressed him back down. "Want you," Xander said. "Christ, Spike--"
And then Spike was closer, even closer, and Xander could feel his skin again. All of it, all at once, shimmering and spread out on some huge divine laundry line in the sky. Blowing in the wind. Spike was touching random little bits here and there: belly, knee, calf, the instep of one foot. Inside of his elbow, and-- "Jesus!"
Spike clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Sensitive, Xander?"
He rubbed two fingers up Xander's bicep, then somehow they were on his thighs again, then up, grazing his pubes, and he was biting his lip hard enough to dent it permanently. Spike's eyes were dark, in his face suddenly, frigid skin brushing over Xander's hot skin.
"Want you," Xander said brokenly when he remembered to release his lip from his teeth. "Please, I *do*, I want--"
"Want you," Spike said, kissing him, dropping his weight all the way down on top of Xander. Xander's cock, trapped against his stomach and the rough denim of Spike's jeans, screamed, but it got lost because Spike was *inhaling* Xander. Teeth and tongue and, Jesus, even his throat was working, sucking Xander into this cold gorgeous wet vortex.
And Xander just wanted this never to stop. His legs wrapped themselves around Spike's as Spike grasped a handful of Xander's hair and sucked harder, nipping and growling, and Xander felt on the edge of total dissolution. His skin yowled and sang as he thrust up against Spike and attempted to swan-dive, tongue first, into that mouth. Staring into Spike's eyes, wide black pupils, and *they* were swallowing him now, too. Huge twin wormholes and Xander was pouring himself inside.
Xander heard himself howl when Spike was ripped off him, his arms trailing into the air.
"Still here," Spike said, running both palms down Xander's chest. His mouth was swollen and red, shocking, like blood on snow. "'sokay, still--"
Xander swallowed a moan but it came out anyway. "Want--"
Spike nodded and slid his hands around Xander's waist, gripping tight. "What do you want?"
Spike was even hoarser now, his voice trembling almost as much as Xander's legs were. "Want you," Xander said. "Feeling you, and--"
Spike nudged Xander's knees back up and crouched there between them. "Want to fuck you, Xander."
Xander nodded. "Yeah--"
Spike bit the inside of Xander's thigh and suckled at it before looking back up. "Yeah, what?"
"Yeah." Xander gulped. Precum ran down his cock, soaking his balls, he was squirming and crazed with sensation. "Fuck me, Spike? Please? Want to feel you--"
Spike bit the other thigh and soothed the pain into more heat, a stiffer breeze blowing through Laundry-Xander. "Want to feel my cock? That it?"
"Your cock," Xander said. His chest was heaving, shaking, and there wasn't enough air in the world to breathe. Spike moved back and Xander groaned. "Where are you--"
"Still here," Spike said. His Adam's apple bobbed quickly in his throat. "Just getting the slick."
Xander heard the top being flicked open a thousand miles away as Spike lowered himself over Xander's chest, tongue flicking at a nipple already hard as granite. "Go on," Spike said, glancing up.
"Want--" Xander couldn't say it. How could he say it? Spike licked him with the faintest brush of the tip of his tongue and Xander writhed, trying to get more, it felt too sharp, too light. "Please--"
Slicked fingers stroked the crease of his thighs, and his balls, never his cock. Sweat and tears clouded his view of Spike, stinging like nothing he'd ever felt. "Just tell me what you want, pet."
Xander threw open his thighs and squinted desperately at Spike. "This. Want this, and you. You, your cock. Want to feel you fucking me--"
"Good," Spike said, pausing in a long slow lick down the center of Xander's chest. "Cause I want to fuck you."
Warm wet pressure suddenly strengthened in Xander's ass and he moaned. "Yeah, yeah, that--. *Spike*."
"Talk to me, pet."
He lifted his ass off the mattress, pushing one leg down. The pressure tickled and urged...*something*. "Feels good, more-more-more--"
Spike chuckled. "Just touching you, Xan."
"Yeah--" He felt his skin contracting, shrinking into his skeleton, then blowing up, ballooning, everything focused around that teasing touch. "Please, I want--"
"Want you, Xander," Spike said. "Look at me."
His head lifted off the pillow and through narrowed, stinging eyes he could kind of make out Spike. "Yeah?"
"Beautiful, just fucking *hot*."
Wherever Spike was touching him, it connected right to his heart and his ribcage, and they both flipped and shifted around and Xander had to take a few shuddering breaths before any noise came out of his mouth. "No, you-- You are--" Like the head of a hammer, something *huge* and unyielding, pressing up against his ass, and Xander breathed again, succeeding only in gasping. His head plummeted back to the pillow. "God, please, please--"
"Slicking you up," Spike said. The pressure kicked up into something burning, and Xander knew he'd taken a finger before, he could do this, even if Spike suddenly had paws like fucking *Hagrid*. Burning, though, beautiful gorgeous amazing burning, and then when he exhaled, the finger was in and he stared at Spike. No more breath. "Slicking, stretching, getting you nice and wet--"
"Yeah--"
Like a lullaby sung by someone with emphysema, Spike's words were scattering and whispering around him. Xander felt himself press down. Didn't even mean to, except it was the right choice, and when he clenched he could feel every bump of Spike's knuckles.
Spike groaned long and harsh. "Fuck, Xan--"
"Taking it," Xander said, his own voice strange and way deeper than usual. He squirmed and clenched, more pressure building, whimpers splitting and crowding his throat when Spike's hand moved. "See? Doing it--"
"You're taking it." Spike sounded almost amazed, kind of proud, and Xander grinned. He wanted to throw his head back and laugh, feel every pulse and throb, every shift of skin and bone inside him, yell his head off.
The burning made his stomach jump and twist better than any roller coaster. Xander felt more lube, double the pressure, and he was tossing his head back and forth, wishing like hell he could amputate his legs, get everything out of the way, just feel this fire and the tiny-huge movement of fingers inside of him.
"Feel that?" Spike's fingers shifted and they were clawing at the back of Xander's throat, noise shooting out his mouth.
"Fuck, *Spike*--"
"Fucking you," Spike said. "Got three in you, and you love it, don't you?"
"Please--" Xander collapsed into a tiny point, just cock-balls-ass, fiery red, desperate. "Coming--"
::::::::::::::::::
Throat scratched dry, body tensed against vertiginous swells of desire, mouth struck dumb by the spectacle before him, Spike felt time slide past him, never touching. He could not swallow; he knew that if he moved, he would shatter.
Every breath, every tremble, each and every blip of platelet moving in Xander's body pressed against Spike's fingers. He was breathless and had no time to note the irony. Xander's face was screwed-up and beet-red, nearly as red as the cock jerking against his belly, cum spurting everywhere. Ragged moans and pleas and the tightest clench, furnace-hot, on Spike's fingers.
Spike fought to keep them still in the interminably long moment during which Xander's breathing slowed, the flush began to fade, the groans softened, and his muscles gradually quieted. The lube was going sticky on his hand.
"Spi--" Xander sighed. "Oh, shit--" Trembles still wracked Xander, coming in irregular seismic waves.
"Good?" Spike croaked. Xander's nodding renewed the waves throbbing faster than blood around Spike's fingers. "Good. Feel so good, Xan--" His voice was back, and Spike had no idea when it would flee next. He spoke as quickly as he could. "So hot, so tight, you feel like--"
Xander inhaled wheezily, struggling up onto one elbow, blinking at Spike. "Am I--?"
Spike nodded. He couldn't answer, nothing could pass his throat, and nodding endangered everything.
"Am I?" Xander demanded.
Spike could not remember how to move. Words were gone. He tried to swallow. He stared at Xander, memorized the flush staining his cheeks, the ragged smile contorting his lips, the deep shine to his eyes, the sweat-soaked hair clinging to his forehead.
"Am I?" Xander clenched his muscles around Spike's fingers and bent forward. "Ready now?"
"Ready?" Spike echoed.
Xander grazed Spike's cheek with dry lips. "Ready to get fucked?"
Spike blinked. When his eyes opened, Xander was back down on the bed, and maybe it had only been an illusion.
Xander licked his lips and raised his hips.
No, no illusion. Heat poured and streamed up Spike's arm, directly communicated from Xander into his skin.
Finally, at last, he woke up. "Ready," Spike said, fingers slipping out, ripping open his fly. "Fun's just getting started."
He managed to coat his straining cock with one hand while the other stroked Xander's ass.
"Turn over?" Xander asked.
"Yeah." Spike leaned back and sucked both cheeks in over his teeth as Xander tried to sit up, failed, finally settled for rolling over. Somehow the boy knew to bend tight over his knees and reach around, open his ass with one hand. "Bloody fucking Christ, Xander--"
Lube glittered in the cleft, matting the light hair there, swirling around the swollen, winking pucker. Xander's head lolled over. Spike smiled tightly at him as he stroked the hole with the pad of his thumb. Xander groaned and wiggled against the touch.
"Nice," Spike breathed, clenching the base of his cock in his fist. He had no clue how to make this last. "You have no idea, so--"
"Want you," Xander nearly snarled. "C'mon, please--"
Spike rubbed the head of his cock up and down the cleft until Xander was mewling, whimpering, begging for something, anything.
"Patience, patience," Spike murmured, lying through his teeth. Every brush of Xander's burning skin torqued his balls tighter and squeezed more precum down his shaft.
Xander collapsed on his arms, ass in the air, senseless noises clogging the room. Spike's eyes dried and burned, never blinking, swallowing again and again as the heat of Xander's skin licked flame after flame into his body. He pressed the head of his cock against the pucker and named each sovereign of England since the Norman Invasion under his breath, nearly swooning as the hole started to iris open.
Xander's head thrashed as Spike dug his nails into his hip, squeezing hard enough on his cock that the tendon in his thumb popped ominously. He scraped inside, millimeter by burning millimeter, convinced that every muscle in Xander's body fought the invasion.
Except Xander was punching the pillow, sobbing and begging for more.
"Slow," Spike muttered. "Gotta take--" The first, tightest ring of muscle flashed open and his cock nearly bent double as he pushed farther in. With the certainty of the lover, for whom sex is the only event of any import, ever, he knew he was going to die trying to get inside. A hero's death, though. He let Xander adjust to each distance gained and swallowed every curse he knew.
Xander thrust his hips back, yelling, and suddenly, miraculously, Spike was inside. All the way, buried, dying deliciously. Inferno, immolation, the only way to go. He heard himself laugh, or gasp, some subvocal sound, at every absurdity he had ever witnessed. Ever perpetrated, ever even *heard* of. It all faded in a flash compared to the slick, membrane-thin skin holding him motionless, burning him still.
"More," Xander said. "Goddamn it, just--"
Xander bore down on him as Spike's hips started moving. Far more intelligent than Spike at this moment, they pushed gently and rocked back slowly. The slightly rougher nub of Xander's prostate rode the head of Spike's cock, and Xander bucked, one leg kicking out. Spike fought to hold him down.
"Fucking you," Spike muttered. Teeth clenched, tongue dry as a bone. "You want that? You like that?" He twisted his hips and scraped back and forth until Xander pushed roughly back.
"Yes-- Fuck!" Xander screamed. "Oh, Jesus--"
Rhythm took over, saved Spike the effort of thinking past the reminder not to drive the boy through the mattress. He wrapped his arm around Xander's waist, his body ordering him to take him close, get under that skin, taste the sweat pouring down his back, and he obeyed, pulling Xander up to his knees, closing his teeth on the knob of one shoulder.
Every time he thrust, certain it was the last, he couldn't take it, he was beyond coming, Xander squirmed, or clenched, or pressed down, until he was riding Spike's cock just as much as Spike was riding his ass. Fucking each other, screwing each other breathless and stupid, they crashed back and forth. The mattress slid away from the box spring. Spike's gut and chest and spine flared in golden, then red, then pure white light.
Xander suddenly stiffened and stilled in Spike's grasp. His moan was high and endless, ripping into Spike's ears.
His muscles tightened and squeezed Spike's cock well past the breaking point, more than a vise, a death grip. Spike reared back as Xander fell forward, thrusting against the bed as the waves of his orgasm tore through Spike. Spike's hips kept driving in, deeper and deeper, as his hand scrabbled at Xander's shoulder, neck, finally grabbing his hair, desperate to find purchase. He thrust wildly, blinded and crazed by the light, by the tremors shaking Xander, by need and want and fear.
Spike came and came. He couldn't stop shooting; he was fucking into his cum, until suddenly pain pierced up through his cock and he pulled out, collapsing beside Xander.
Pain washed over him, dully and sluggishly while sheer, pure pleasure throbbed and keened through him, all the way to the core. He tried to lick his lips, tried to touch Xander, but nothing happened. Spike's mouth twitched as his human face smoothed back.
"Guh."
Xander laughed hoarsely, briefly, at the sound until he was wheezing again.
Gradually, he had no idea how long, Spike's mind returned. It came back piecemeal, reminding him first of his name, then where he was, then Xander's name. Pleasure pulsed through his limbs, leaving them weightless and floating and Spike felt himself grinning like a lunatic.
"Key-riste," Xander whispered. His hand hovered over Spike's arm, the heat radiating before it descended. "Think that gets a 'bloody hell', don't you?"
"Mm." Spike rolled until he was pressed up against Xander. He pulled Xander's head against his shoulder and buried his face in the damp hair. "What you said."
