Xander woke up in the morning to the sound of pouring rain. Instead of heading to the shower as he normally would, he staggered half-awake to the phone and called the site. Work was shut down for the day ... one of the benefits of rain in the construction industry. Well, except that he wouldn't get paid. But right now, when he was half-asleep, that didn't seem nearly as important as getting another couple hours of sleep.
Ahhhhh, sweet slumber! I gladly return to thy comfy bosom!
He groggily shuffled back to the bed and crawled beneath the blankets. By the time he was once again lying flat on his back, however, he had woken up just barely enough to remember the previous night.
And everything stopped.
It was like the world froze, leaving him lying in the center, staring at the white stucco ceiling, his breath caught in his throat, his heart constricting in his chest, his skin prickling as if he'd just touched a light socket.
Spike. Naked me-ness. Naughty touching. And the ... the watching.
Sure, yeah, the relevant body part sat up and took notice, but Xander was lost in the amazed, wondering, almost disbelieving realization that something had actually happened last night. Something had happened between him and Spike.
Everything had changed.
His whole life looked different now. Before, he'd been Xander the construction guy and night-time demon fighter. Now, he was Xander the construction guy and night-time demon fighter who had something going on with Spike.
Huge difference.
He tried to replay every single second of it in his mind, every expression on Spike's face, the moments when he shifted position slightly on the couch as if he was getting hard enough to be uncomfortable, the way he leaned forward when Xander was playing with his nipples, the way his eyes lingered on Xander's mouth when he licked his lips...
Okay, so it hadn't quite been the romantic revelation Xander had been dreaming about. Spike hadn't even kissed him. Hell, Spike hadn't even touched him. But there was no denying that it was a considerable change from playing pool at The Bronze and chatting about weaponry.
And there had been honest-to-goodness -- or would that be honest-to-evilness? -- heat in Spike's eyes. Xander was sure of that much.
A lot of other stuff about what had happened might be confusing, but he was sure of the look in Spike's eyes.
But, yeah, actually, a lot of the rest made no sense at all. Why had Spike done it? Was it just because he didn't want Xander going to the sex club and supposedly getting killed? Or was that just an excuse? Did he want Xander as much as Xander wanted him? Okay, the answer to that one was no. Not when Xander had been dropping potentially flirtatious hints for months without getting any response.
So Spike didn't want Xander as much as Xander wanted him. But -- and here was the thought that made his stomach tighten -- maybe he did want Xander at least a little bit.
And if there was a little bit of wanting there, even just a little bit, then maybe it might turn into more.
I'm pretty sure Spike at least likes me. I mean, we're friends now -- at least, I'm pretty sure we're friends -- I've been horribly wrong about that in the past, but this time I think I'm right -- and people tend to like their friends, right? Isn't that in the definition? Isn't that part of the whole friend "thing"? So ... he likes me ... and he wanted me to get naked. I don't think I'm totally insane to think this sounds promising. 'Cause when friends get naked with friends, it usually means more than friends.
His usual morning shower wank made him come so hard, his ears were ringing.
* * *
He almost wished work hadn't been called on account of the rain. The day was passing slowly, inching painfully toward dark, when he was supposed to meet everyone -- including Spike -- for patrol.
He even thought, briefly, about going to Spike's crypt, but that seemed just a little pathetically eager.
So instead he watched some tv -- though he couldn't remember afterward what any of it was -- and occasionally wandered into the kitchen to look at the postcard.
"DON'T." That's what Spike had written. It was the first thing Spike had ever written to him. And how pathetic was it that it made him happy? Spike had written something to him. Yay!
Of course, "DON'T" wasn't a particularly encouraging or personal message.
Well, it could be encouraging or personal, depending on what it referred to.
He was pretty sure it referred to the sex club, just Spike getting in the last word about whether Xander should go there or not. But maybe it was something else. He wracked his brain for possibilities.
Don't masturbate again. Too late.
Don't come to patrol tonight. No, he would have been more clear if it was that. Anyway, why would he want that?
Don't come bug me at my crypt. He wouldn't know I would think about that. Would he?
Don't think this meant anything. Too complicated. That wouldn't be what he meant. Right? Right?
He came to the conclusion that Spike had to have been referring to the sex club. He'd written it on the postcard, after all. But this conclusion led him to consider the nagging worry that had been hovering on the edge of his mind all morning.
Did Spike do this just because of the sex club? Was he just trying to keep me from going? Or did he want it?
And if it was just because of the sex club, is it possible -- just possible -- that he might see me differently now? Might think of "Xander" and "sex" as not entirely mutually exclusive concepts? Is it possible -- just remotely possible -- that this might lead to something, even if it isn't already there?
He figured that everything depended on how Spike acted on patrol tonight. He'd wait and see if Spike was friendly or distant or flirty or what. And that would give him a better idea of what was going on.
In the meantime, all the mooning had gotten him to feeling a bit of an estrogen overload, so he decided he needed to engage in some more manly pursuits to pass the time until dark. Get him feeling big and muscular and tough. Forget about all that staring at the postcard. He was big and muscular and tough! He was Xander! Hear him roar! Well, not actually roar, of course, because the neighbors already thought he was weird enough, what with all the late hours, but more of a metaphorical roar. A metaphor roar. A metaroar.
So he lifted weights for a while in the spare room, which used to be a closet, but it was big enough for a weight room, so he called it a room. It was plenty of room for him to work out on the weight bench, anyway, and so he put some effort into making himself sweat profusely, which passed an hour or so.
Then he got nervous that his manly musk might overwhelm everyone on patrol ... in a bad way, not in a sex way. It might even attract unsavory demons ... rather than the relatively savory demon whom he wanted to attract. So he took another shower.
Once he was reasonably certain that his odoriforousness would not offend, he spent some time practicing with the new knives Spike had given him for Christmas. He had a target set up in the spare "room," which often came in handy since the time loop, since he'd started the whole knife-throwing thing on patrol. The target came in especially handy times like now, when he felt like he was going crazy and needed something to focus on. It made him sort of understand why Spike used to toss his knife all the time. The rhythm was sort of relaxing.
Not that Spike tossed his knife much anymore. Maybe it had been a nervous thing, and he wasn't so nervous now. Or maybe it had been a way to keep himself entertained when he thought Xander was ignoring him. Whatever the cause, he'd stopped. Now knives were mostly Xander's thing.
It only took him a few throws to notice that the new knives handled really well. Spike had been right about the balance being perfect for throwing. Xander felt like kind of a shit for having been so ungrateful about the gift.
Well, tonight on patrol I can thank Spike properly. Uh ... except not the way that sounded. I mean, unless he wants ... what that sounded like. And maybe he does. Except not with Willow and Tara watching, because, hello, sort of kinky I guess, but definitely not that kinky.
It was the longest day of his life.
Well, except for the time loop. But that didn't count.
* * *
It was only about an hour before dark when the phone rang. Remembering suddenly that Willow had given Spike a stylish black cell phone for Christmas, Xander ran for the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Xander. Been playing with your shiny Christmas presents?"
Willow sounded so chipper and friendly, Xander tried not to sound disappointed. "Actually, yeah. We still on for patrol? Umbrella brigade?"
"Nope. Spike called and said no patrol tonight. Apparently Bregni demons aren't big on the whole getting wet thing. So they'll be hiding out, and we get the night off. Want to come over for movies and pizza?"
But Xander was still stuck on the first thing she'd said. "Spike called you?" Why'd he call Willow, and not me? Especially after last night. He could have called me to leave a message about patrol. But he called Willow instead.
"Yup. Just to give us the heads up about tonight. See? The phone is useful already. I am Resourceful Christmas Gift-Giving Girl."
"Wills, do you think" -- god, how pathetic do I sound? -- "do you think Spike likes me?" Where is my manly dignity? Because I think I lost it somewhere along the way here. Maybe around the time I read that stupid postcard for the twentieth time.
Only silence came along the phone line. Okay, so the question had seemed less of an abrupt change of topic inside his own head. Because the topic in his head hadn't changed all day. Eventually, Willow offered tentatively, "Of course he likes you, Xander. He just called me because I was the one who gave him the phone..."
"No, not about the phone thing. I mean really. Do you think Spike likes me?"
Willow was silent for another long moment. "Ummm ... do you mean likes you likes you?"
And here we are doing the seventh grade thing again. Why does Spike turn me into an emotional 12 year old? But he actually really wanted Willow's opinion. She was better with stuff like this than he was. Hell, Dawn was probably better with stuff like this than he was. Hell, even Giles was probably better with stuff like this than he was, and wasn't that a scary thought? "No, just ... do you think he likes me? As ... as a friend ... as ... anything."
"Sure. I think he likes all of us now. We're kind of like his family, you know? Or I guess he might say 'minions' instead of 'family', but I think that sounds kind of rude, since I'm not all that comfy with the minion thing, but he is still a vampire, so..."
"It's just ... I thought he liked me before," Xander interrupted. "Before the time looping stuff, I mean. And I was completely wrong. Wrong to the nth degree. Wrong like garlic ice-cream is wrong. And I guess I was hoping that I'm not wrong this time."
"Xander," she paused before continuing with obvious concern in her voice, "are you having the warm fuzzy Spike feelings again?"
Xander laughed in that way you laugh at things that are in no way funny. "Never stopped, Will. But there's only so many times you can say, 'He's still not interested,' before people's eyes start glazing over."
"Did my eyes glaze? Because I never meant to glaze. You know I care..."
"No, Will, it's okay. I didn't mean you. I just meant in general. After a while, there isn't much to talk about when the situation never changes."
"So ... you're talking about it now. Does that mean the situation changed?"
Darn that Willow and her gigantic brain! She caught me. Xander considered lying, but even the thought made him feel guilty. So he hedged, "I'm not sure."
Sounding cautiously hopeful on his behalf, she asked, "Did something happen?"
Again with the hedging. "Sort of."
He could almost see Willow bouncing in hopeful excitement when she eagerly asked, "What? What happened? I want details!"
Details? No! No, definitely not giving the details. So, okay, and now with the even worse hedging. "I ... I'd rather not talk about it. It's ... I'm still not sure exactly what's going on."
"Oh." Great. He'd made her make the sad, hurt Willow sound, the one that always made him feel like he'd just come home from a long day clubbing baby seals or something. Like he was a bad bad person.
"I'm sorry, Will."
"It's okay. But you know you can talk to me if you want to."
"I do want to, Will. Just ... not right now. I'm sorry." If he apologized any more, he was going to lose the few manliness credentials he had remaining, if he even had any left at this point. It just sucked. He hated keeping secrets from Willow.
Of course, he'd been keeping secrets from Spike ever since the time loop.
He was becoming Xander the Secret-Keeping Guy, and he didn't like it much. He was used to being pretty honest with the people he cared about. Okay, not Anya-level honesty, because some things just don't need to be said, especially in public, but still. Honest. Pretty much. Secrets, he was discovering, were very much not his thing. Too stressful.
But sometimes it was hard to tell the truth.
I mean, really. What am I going to tell her? "Oh, last night, Spike told me to take off my clothes and make with the slippery solo handshake while he watched, and I did it, but I'm not sure if that makes us boyfriends or fuck buddies or just friends who happen to have engaged in one unexpected evening of kinky living room masturbation indulgence."
Not going to happen. Because (A) embarrassing. And (B) embarrassing. And (C) did I mention embarrassing? Not going to be telling Willow about the whole "masturbation while being watched" thing. Or the "taking orders from Spike" thing. If there was kissage to discuss, I'd be dishing with Wills all night long. But weirdo sex games? Hm. No, not so much with the sharing.
The conversation ended awkwardly. Xander declined to join them for movies and pizza, feeling vaguely guilty about the secret-keeping and not wanting to spend all evening fighting Willow's "you can tell me anything" face.
Plus, Spike might call.
Willow said all the right things, being the good friend as always, but Xander could tell that she felt hurt.
When he hung up the phone, he turned around and went into the kitchen, got himself a beer, and sat down at the table. He looked at the post card.
Damn Spike! This is all his fault!
* * *
An hour later, Xander was sitting in front of the tv, pretending to himself that he was interested in ... wait, what was it now? Oh, right. Iron Chef. He couldn't even remember what ingredient they were using. And what was he doing watching the cooking channel, anyway?
The problem was a slip of paper sitting on the phone table.
Before they'd hung up, Willow had given him the number to Spike's cell.
He told himself he should have the number anyway. The whole reason Spike had a phone was so that he could get in touch with the Scoobies and they could get in touch with him. It would make arranging patrols a lot easier, and Spike wanted everyone to be able to get him in an emergency.
This is not an emergency, Xander reminded himself. Repeatedly. What am I going to do? Make something up? Be honest and say, "Hey, Spike, there's an emergency in my pants"? I don't think so. And, anyway, if he wanted to talk to me, he would have called me. I am not doing that "wait by the phone" thing.
He waited in the same room as the phone -- but not by the phone, it's a very fine distinction -- until 9:12 p.m.
When Spike answered the phone, there was a lot of noise in the background. He barked simply, "Yeah?"
Xander was taken aback by the noise and the attitude. Where was Spike? What was he doing? And who was he doing it with? And why? And ... other question words. Many question words. Some of which might not even exist in English.
"Spike?" Oh, right. Because his identity is so much in question. Why did I say that?
There was a bit of a pause, then Spike's voice, surprised, "Harris?" It sounded like he was in a bar. Lots of people talking in the background.
"Uh, yeah. It's me. Xander. Harris."
Another pause. Then Spike, impatient: "And?"
"Oh, um, right. So, um..." He hadn't really planned out what to say, and that was now finding its way to the top of his personal list of stupid decisions. And then words just popped out of his mouth with absolutely no permission from his brain. "Don't what?"
"What's that?" The background noise seemed a little quieter now.
Well, once you've said something stupid, may as well go with it. It's already said, anyway. Can't take it back. And ... okay ... so he really wanted the answer.
"You wrote 'don't' on the postcard. Don't what?"
There wasn't much noise at all now. Maybe Spike had gone outside or something. "What do you think, genius?" There was something in Spike's voice, something kind of funny. He sounded really surprised and maybe confused, too, which made Xander wonder why he wouldn't have expected this. They'd messed around. Of course Xander would want to ... want to call up and ... okay, so maybe he hadn't expected Xander to call up and want to chat about the whole kinky sex thing. It wasn't really within their usual realm of conversational topics. But today was not usual. Nothing about it was usual. Except maybe as compared to last night. Because that was even more not usual.
"Harris?"
Xander realized he'd been quiet too long. And why did Spike keep calling him by his last name? They'd kind of gotten onto a first name basis lately, so why the throwback? And what had Spike asked him? Oh, right, about what he thought the message on the card was about.
"I'm not sure. The ... the club?"
"Got it in one. You go there and I'll find out. And I'll kick your ass myself if you don't end up dead first."
Xander's stomach was in knots, but he said it anyway. "I thought you said it would be okay if you went, too."
Another silence. And then: "Figured you for a one-timer, Harris. Didn't think you'd have the balls for more'n that."
Xander replied without thinking, "Make no assumptions about my balls, mister!" and then realized that it sounded incredibly stupid. Too late. He cringed and waited for Spike to laugh.
But Spike didn't. Instead, he said cautiously, "Up for more fun and games, are we?"
Xander's stomach did a rather impressive stop, drop, and roll. And his throat was suddenly really swollen. Like he couldn't swallow and might suffocate. He gulped air and tried to find the ability to form words. He squeaked, "Yes?"
Spike was quiet again.
After a minute -- or ten or twenty or Xander didn't really know because his sense of time was all screwed up -- he eventually said tentatively, "You could come over and we could ... I don't know ... uh ... talk ... about ... you know ... the stuff."
Spike repeated with a smirk in his voice, "The 'stuff'."
Xander was embarrassed enough to be frustrated. "You know what I mean."
And Spike replied smoothly, "Know what you mean, pet. And it ain't talking you're after."
Xander blushed and tried to think of what to say, because suddenly it seemed like something was going on and it was all happening really fast and it sounded like Spike was going to come over and ... do stuff with him again. Maybe more stuff. Different stuff. Stuff that involved actual touching. Of each other. At least, he hoped.
He hadn't come up with anything to say by the time Spike added, "Be there in two shakes. We'll get that pesky itch all nice and scratched." And then he hung up.
Xander put the phone back in its cradle, feeling a bit dazed. So ... maybe it is just because of the sex club? But he didn't sound like he was being forced into anything. I mean, he sounded perfectly happy to come over here and ... whatever. But even if he isn't into me now, maybe he will be. He'll get to know me better, not just like a pal. And he might start to feel more. It's worth a shot. And, hey, naughtiness with Spike! Not exactly a hardship! Er ... no pun intended.
Xander looked around the apartment nervously. He hadn't left the apartment all day, so his feet were still bare. He considered putting on socks. But if things went well, he'd just need to take the socks off again. So he'd stick with the bare feet.
He sat down on the couch, barefoot, and held the TV Guide without reading it. And waited.
When Xander opened the door, Spike walked in close, moving past him with their bodies almost touching. With Xander in his bare feet and Spike in boots, they were almost the same height, Spike just a bit taller for once, and Spike's face was very close as he passed. He had a look in his eye that Xander hadn't seen in a long time. He'd seen Spike confident. He'd seen Spike smug. He'd seen him amused and intense and occasionally domineering to the point of obnoxiousness. He'd even, last night, seen him turned-on, or at least he thought he had.
But this look was trouble.
It was a vampire look, a predator look. Accompanied with the walking too close, it set a certain expectation for what would happen next. And it almost certainly wasn't going to be parcheesi.
Standing so that they were almost touching, Spike reached past Xander and closed the front door, smiling slightly. He kept his hand on the door, his body leaning toward Xander, almost trapping him.
"What you said, on the phone," Xander babbled nervously, "about scratching and itching..."
Apparently parcheesi wasn't the only thing Spike hadn't been planning, because talking obviously wasn't on the evening's menu, either. He tilted his head, looking impatient. "Yeah?"
Xander smiled weakly. "You're not just doing this for me, are you? Because I ... I mean..."
But he didn't get a chance to clarify, because Spike was grinning at him. "I'm touched. Really." A chuckle and a shake of the head, as if he was finding something highly amusing. "Just 'cause I work with you lot, you thought I'd turned into some kind of vampire Mother Theresa?" A wolfish grin. "Sorry, mate, I don't do charity work."
"But you came over..."
"Gonna make it worth my while, aren't you? No strip tease this time. Done with teasing. This time, you make me come."
And at those words, Xander promptly lost his brain. It fell out somewhere, or maybe just became instantly paralyzed, but he wasn't worried about finding it, wasn't worried about his brain at all in fact, because Spike's voice when he said those words was low and rough and wanting.
Spike was wanting. Wanting him. Him. Xander. Spike was wanting him. And that was huge. World-shiftingly huge. Because this wasn't the resentful, rejected Spike from the time loop. This was Spike big and bad and arrogant and choosing to get naughty with him.
And he wanted Xander to make him come. He'd never actually seen Spike come, never seen what his face looked like when he lost control, because he'd always looped out before it happened. But now he was going to see it, going to see Spike's face. Not just imagine it, like he had a million times. He was going to actually see it, actually going to be there when Spike came. Came because of him.
All these jumbled thoughts swirled through his paralyzed brain in an instant. But there was no way he could have formed a complete sentence understandable by other life forms. Not right then. Verbs. Nouns. Way too complicated. All his brain was really capable of saying in that moment was, Guh?
And what came out of his mouth was just an embarrassingly breathless, "Okay."
Spike leaned a bit closer, his eyes flickering over Xander's face, and Xander caught his breath -- kissing seemed imminent -- but then Spike abruptly pulled away to walk into the living room, where he dropped onto the couch, just as he'd done last time. He pushed the coffee table away with one foot and said, "C'mere."
Xander walked on only slightly unsteady legs and stopped to stand on the other side of the coffee table. "C'mere," Spike repeated, gesturing to the floor in front of him where his booted feet were set wide apart.
Okay, this looked like it was maybe going in a familiar direction, which helped Xander calm down a bit as he walked forward. He stood with his bare feet between Spike's boots, his legs between Spike's spread knees, and watched Spike's face for any hint of what he was thinking, aside from the obvious. But Spike's face was unreadable.
"On your knees," he said with a bit of a smirk, and Xander complied. To steady himself as he knelt, he rested his hands on Spike's thighs, then realized that was a fairly intimate touch. He looked up to make sure Spike wasn't offended or something, but Spike was only watching him.
What's he thinking? Does he want me to just do what he says? Or do I get some say here, too? Because I like the whole him telling me what to do thing, but ... I want it to be more than that.
On his knees now, his weight firmly settled, Xander kept his eyes on Spike's face as he dared to stroke his hands along Spike's denim-clad thighs. Spike eyed him in that same lordly way Xander remembered from the time loop and said, "Undo my jeans."
Xander let his hands slide further up along Spike's thighs, over the bulge beneath his fly -- He's hard. Oh god. Okay, it would be really embarrassing to come from just that. -- until both hands hovered at the top botton at his waist. He pushed Spike's black t-shirt up a bit to get it out of the way, revealing a pale sliver of skin. The jeans were tight enough that he had to slide his fingers pretty snugly against Spike's stomach, and he felt the muscles twitch.
Not going to come. Not going to come. Well, eventually going to come, at least I hope so, but not right now, not while we've still got all our clothes on and all I've really touched is his stomach.
When the button was released, Xander kept his fingers inside the denim, sliding down along the inner seam to give him leverage to open the next button. No underwear. He felt Spike's cock, and yeah, it was hard. At that first touch, Spike jerked slightly, but when Xander looked up at him, his face was still carefully composed.
I wonder how long it's been since he had sex. I mean, he's not with us all the time. What does he do when he's out on his own? It sounded like he was at a bar or something when I called earlier. I suppose he could be getting laid every night, if he wanted to. I mean, duh. Of course he could, if he wanted to. He's Spike.
So why do I get the feeling it's been a while?
Xander rubbed one finger slowly against the side of Spike's cock. He couldn't move much inside the tight jeans, but it was enough to make Spike take a quick surprised breath. Xander's own cock throbbed at the sound.
Returning to his task, Xander slid his hands down to the next button and popped it free. Spike's cock now thrust insistently against the back of his hand, and suddenly he just wanted to tear off all of Spike's clothes and leap on him.
But that was sort of what he'd done during the time loop, and it hadn't worked out so well. This time, Spike was leading. He couldn't fuck this up if he just followed what Spike wanted. Right?
Xander slid his hands down just enough to release the next button with a slight give, the rough fabric parting a bit more as he slid his hand further down to the next button. He'd given up on watching Spike's face right now, because he couldn't tear his eyes away from that slowly emerging cock. He opened the last two buttons in quick succession, getting impatient to move on to the next stage, wanting to taste Spike again after spending so long remembering and wanting.
He glanced up at Spike to make sure he hadn't misread the situation. This was what he wanted, right?
Spike's face was tight and closed, letting nothing show. But his voice was a bit ragged when he said, "Go on. Suck it."
Xander tried to pull Spike's jeans down, but Spike shook his head. "No. Leave it."
Xander nodded and licked his lips, a bit nervous after all because it had been a while. But the sight of Spike's eyes suddenly focused on his mouth took care of any hesitation. Xander took Spike's cock into his hand and squeezed.
Spike arched, just a little, and gasped, "Ah!" His smug superior act was looking a bit worn around the edges, but he obviously wanted to stay in control. And that was probably the most seductive thing Xander had ever seen, because it made him want to do everything in his power to make Spike lose that control. He leaned over and quickly licked the head of Spike's cock, making Spike arch again, biting his lip. Xander shifted position slightly as his own cock throbbed for attention. Why didn't I wear looser pants?
His eyes now trained on Spike's face, he leaned forward and slid the head into his mouth, sucking gently. Xander saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and looked aside out of curiosity. It looked like Spike's hands were clenched on the couch cushions, which seemed like a good sign. He returned his gaze to Spike's face and slowly slid his mouth down.
Spike's jaw looked tense now, a muscle in his cheek standing out in clear relief. When Xander gave the first good, hard suck, Spike jerked and his eyes closed for a moment. But then he was looking down again, frowning slightly, watching Xander between his legs.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd done this before." Spike's voice sounded a bit gravelly. After a moment, he said suspiciously, "But maybe you've got secrets, yeah? Maybe you have done this before?" Xander kept busy, kept tonguing and sucking Spike's cock, but inside he started to panic.
Oh god. I'm going to have to tell him about the time loop. Because just not saying a thing is one thing, but actually saying a thing that isn't true is just ... that's another thing. Totally different things. And I'm not going to do that. Especially when this ... thing ... is going on between us. I'm not going to lie.
Spike pulled on his hair, pulling his face up to look at him with narrowed eyes. "Xander? 'S that how you got that postcard? You been slutting yourself around?"
Xander shook his head as much as was possible with Spike's hands tight in his hair. "No! You're the only guy I've ever..."
Spike interrupted him, saying flatly, "Good."
Good? Why would he care? Unless he ... you know ... cares.
But Spike was pushing his head down again and that familiar cock was nudging at his lips and, suddenly, telling Spike about the time loop didn't seem that crucial. It didn't have to happen right now. There would be plenty of time later.
I'm such a coward.
With Spike's jeans in the way, Xander couldn't really touch as much as he wanted to, couldn't reach his balls, so he put all his attention into working Spike's cock with his tongue and lips, sucking, even scraping a bit with his teeth. And Spike's hip thrusts and quiet moans were only serving to get him more and more turned on, himself.
He kept his eyes trained on Spike's face, and so he saw when those blue eyes suddenly clenched shut and those pink lips parted on a loud groan. And as he watched Spike's face, as he tasted Spike's come in his mouth, Xander suddenly felt himself rocketing over that edge, too.
He felt completely limp, his cheek pressed to the denim of Spike's thigh, his eyes closed. He was still catching his breath when a hand stroking his hair made him turn his head. Xander could feel moisture on his face. Spike's come. And Spike's hand in his hair, lightly touching. Xander looked at him.
Spike's voice was lazy. "Good boy. Think you deserve a reward." A bit of a smirk.
Xander was confused for a moment -- he'd never done any of his greatest thinking in the five minutes immediately following an orgasm -- but then understanding dawned. "Oh! A reward!" He blushed and sat up a bit, looking away, self-consciously wiping at his chin and mouth. "Uh, actually, I sort of already had my reward." Why do I always blush so much around Spike? It's humiliating, is what it is. But, you know, I've never been big on announcing that I just came in my pants. It just isn't something the world needs to know. Not that it happens all that often, of course. Because ... hello! Embarrassing! His face prickling with heat, he looked back at Spike, sort of hopeful and embarrassed at the same time. "But I could have another reward. Just give me a few minutes."
Spike's smirk got smirkier. "Next time, luv."
Next time? So he's planning on a next time? Definitely planning on it? Woo hoo! He shoots, he scores! Um, wait. That sounded wrong. But, you know, he did shoot. And so did I. And apparently we are again, sometime. Woo hoo!
At a glance from Spike, Xander carefully tucked him back into his jeans and rebuttoned everything. Then he stood up and got out of the way when Spike got to his feet.
There was a sort of awkward moment as they both stood there next to the crooked coffee table. Then Xander realized that he was blocking the way, and so he stepped aside. As Spike passed, so close, their faces at just the right height, Xander's heart rose into his throat and he stepped forward again in his bare feet, his hand coming to lightly touch Spike's shoulder, his face moving in for their first kiss. Their first non-time loop kiss.
Spike stepped away.
No kiss. Xander's hand was left suspended in mid-air a moment until he noticed it there and let it fall to his side. Spike stepped away. He knew I was going to kiss him, right? He purposely dodged? Maybe he didn't know. Maybe he just thought I was getting in his way. Yeah, right, because that is so likely. It was definitely a dodge. There was definite dodging action.
Spike was frowning, and Xander suspended his own internal monologue at the horrified realization that he sort of recognized that frown. It looked a little bit like a time loop frown. It reminded him of the frown that said, if he wasn't mistaken, "Why are you acting like you give a shit about me when we both know you don't?" It was like the time loop all over again.
Xander panicked.
"You know you're my best friend, right?" The words were almost unintelligible, he said them so fast.
Spike's frown deepened. "Don't worry, Harris. I wasn't planning any candlelit dinners just because you sucked my cock."
"Wait, that's not what I meant!"
But Spike already had the door open. "Patrol tomorrow. Don't be late. We've still got some Bregnis to deal with." And then he was gone.