::::::::::::::::::
Xander's hands were fluid over Spike's body but distracted. Smelling something nearly bitter, clashing with the warm sweetness of the boy, Spike caught Xander's wrists and hauled him up so Xander was crouched over him. He lay a palm on each cheek and held the face he couldn't stop looking at.
Xander smiled faintly, eyebrows slowly rising in question the longer Spike held him. "What?"
Spike ran his thumbs over the boy's eyes as they closed, feeling the jerk of eyes looking back at the lids.
"But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,/And loved the sorrows of your changing face," he murmured.
Xander's mouth opened and closed. "What?"
Spike slid his hands down Xander's arm and felt the hairs rise against his palms. "Poetry," he muttered and turned away, couldn't bear the eyes searching his. "Bloody good po--" He bit his tongue until it cracked open.
::::::::::::::::::
//Poetry? Poetry.//
Xander leaned in, fingers splayed over Spike's chest. "Yours?"
Spike grimaced and shook his head. "No."
"Poetry?" He didn't know what else to say.
A soft spot of blood smeared over Spike's lip as he licked it. "You're bleeding," he said, reaching to touch. Spike let him touch the blood, watched with glittering eyes as Xander tasted it and smiled.
"This one's better," Spike said, his voice more confident. "Listen to this one--'It's almost poetry/The way his hair hangs down/When he's on top of me'."
Xander ducked his head, feeling something like a blush--no, not like, a real blush--cover his face. Spike tipped his chin up, smoothing back his hair.
"Don't look away," he said.
Xander wanted to slump, look away, find the farthest corner.
Spike's voice was quiet and steady. "You always do that, y'know."
Xander straightened up. "Do what?"
"Look away."
"Yeah." His fingers itched to run through his hair, rub roughly at his chin, do some kind of fidgeting.
"Don't."
Xander attempted a cock of the eyebrow, but it felt more like a twitch. Or Bell's Palsy, something distorted and embarrassing. He squinted down at Spike. And why had he ever thought Spike was compact? Not compact, not at all. Lithe, maybe, definitely lithe, but the muscle running beneath Spike's skin was long and corded, stretched out under his fingers like thick wire.
"I'm not."
"No," Spike said. He pulled Xander down until their foreheads touched. "You're not."
Xander closed his lips over Spike's chin and breathed. At the touch, Spike's head started to arch up and he tightened his hold around Xander's back.
::::::::::::::::::
Warm sweet breath flooding his senses, Spike opened his mouth and drew Xander in. He nipped and sucked at the tip of the boy's tongue resting on his bottom teeth and Xander pushed against him, pushed his tongue in deeper, clutching Spike's head and grinding on his cock. The boy's heat suffused him under the skin, here on his mouth and there on his cock, soaked him and lit him up and Spike knew suddenly he'd do anything not to have to stop feeling this.
Kisses peppered his face, whispering his name and Spike stretched up, feeling insistent burning hands on his chest, tugging at his shirt and then his fly. He couldn't open his eyes, couldn't risk quelling Xander or losing the warmth. He was sprawled on his back in the center of the bed, muttering the syllables of Xander's name like a mantra.
Fiery palms on his hips, pulling them up, and he'd follow them wherever they went. A warm pillow slipped under his ass and Spike's legs fell open as he hissed Xander's name.
He heard a gasp and raised his hips again as Xander's fingertips scorched his cock but the other hand pressed him down at the chest, nails raking first one nipple, then the other. Spike wanted to writhe in, close the distance, but he respected the gesture and kept still.
"Xan--" he wheezed.
A thumb pressed his nipple back into his chest, sliced through the skin with its nail.
"Ssssshhhh." He heard the voice, breathy, and smiled.
"Xander, I want--. Feel your mouth--" Spike tightened his jaw, frustrated, unable to say anything beyond stuttering phrases.
"Sssshh," Xander said again. "You will."
Hot breath over his cock, blown up and down the shaft, over his balls, and he kept himself from bucking too hard. Tiny pricks of the tongue descended randomly, burning themselves out slowly, one following only when the last had almost cooled. Spike pushed his head back into the mattress and rolled it back and forth, red streaks rising behind his lids.
Xander was blowing his breath over his cock, up and down, ghosting the motions of a blowjob as his hands slid under Spike's ass again, cupping him. Blood roared through those palms, his only direct contact with Xander, and Spike felt like he was being held directly in the boy's heart, thunder of his pulse drowning him. Xander held him like that for too many heartbeats, sighs coming raggedly until his lips met Spike's skin again in the hollow of his inner thigh.
The tongue licked around his balls and back to his thighs and Spike realized he'd been groaning. His skin was kindling, sucking in Xander's heat, billowing flames back out. He bit off the groan as the tongue touched his asshole, darted around, and--
Spike felt himself fall into a silent rushing roar, some undertow of frustration and desire, as Xander's tongue lapped around his hole, soaking it with spit. Only those hands and that mouth--that *mouth*--held Spike in the present as Xander's mouth closed around the hole, lips searing frigid skin. Sucking and licking, moaning into Spike's hole, the tongue twisted deeper, melting resistance.
Spike felt the bed moving under him as the boy thrust against it, digging the blunt tip of his tongue inside him with the same rhythm he was fucking the mattress with.
Spike arched his back off the bed, pulling his knees up, opening himself to Xander's swirling tongue.
He was coming in waves, couldn't even feel himself shooting until he was coming dry. He had been coming for so long that his mouth was scratched with screams as the tide crashed over him again and again. He only opened his eyes when the source of the heat flickered out. Xander was gone, inching up beside him.
Struggling with the effort to unclench his fist, Spike flung out one arm and drew the boy in.
Xander lay there, sweaty hair plastered to his face, tracing intricate circles in the cold cum on Spike's chest and humming to himself.
Xander raised up one elbow and looked at Spike shyly. "Okay?" he asked.
The boy smiled and looked at him directly when Spike just gurgled.
Speech seemed impossible, but the brown eyes searched his again and Spike drew a breath. "What the fuck did you do?"
Shy again, but still grinning, Xander shook his head. "Um, I d'know. Licked you? Ate you out? Kind of. I guess. Probably not the right--" He trailed off into uncertainty.
Spike clutched Xander against him. "Idiot. I mean, how do you know--?" He felt Xander giggling against him and squeezed him harder. "How could you know about that?"
Xander kissed his shoulder and pulled away. "I'm unexpectedly, um, well-read?"
Spike wanted to slap the dopey face and kiss it. Xander grinned again and ducked his head. "Sounded like it, you know--. Might feel good? Did it feel good?"
Spike struggled to sit up, irritation and affection flaring. "Of course it fucking felt good. We need something to get at your brain before your mouth jumbles it all up."
Xander pushed lightly against his nipple. "I thought you liked my mouth."
::::::::::::::::::
"I do, just not when it's trying to talk," Spike told him.
Xander studied the bedsheets, stroking Spike's discarded shirt. Muttering. "alzwntdoodooat..."
"What?"
Xander raised his face to Spike's and inhaled sharply, seeing glimmers of furious, impatient Spike below the surface. //Be nice to the nice vampire.// "Always wanted to do that," he repeated. He felt his eyebrows jump as Spike grabbed him, holding his arms at his side, and kissed his neck.
"Since when?"
Xander felt the question against his skin more than he heard it, which made it easier to ignore.
When he didn't answer, Spike bit him gently. "Since. When. Question mark."
Xander squinted down at the sheets, trying to remember the last time he'd done laundry. Spike shook him and sucked viciously on the bite mark.
"How long, Xander?"
Notes.
The poem's by Yeats, who's probably more Angel's style than Spike's (or even William's), but it sounded too good (and too redolent of Xander-ness) to leave out. And the second quotation's from the song "Fuck Buddy" by Pansy Division, and is definitely Spike's style.
