Spike was kissing him. They were on Xander's bed and Spike was on top of him, face-to-face, Xander's legs spread high and wide, calves resting on Spike's shoulders as he fucked him, slow and hard, kissing him all the while with that rough, insistent hunger, their tongues sliding against each other just as Spike's cock slid inside of him.
"Oh god, yeah," Xander moaned against Spike's mouth, panting. "Like that. Right there. Oh god."
He was getting close, and Spike seemed to know, seemed to just know what he wanted without him having to say anything. Xander's cock was throbbing between them, rubbing against Spike's stomach with every slowly speeding thrust as Spike began to change his pace, making Xander writhe in desperation.
"Oh god," he groaned. "Oh god, yeah, faster, oh god, oh god, yeah..." Xander's head pressed back into the bed, his back arching, he was so close ... so close...
Spike began pounding into him, kissing him just as hard, kissing him and fucking him as if he couldn't get enough, as if Xander was his whole world and he wanted to climb inside and never come out. Then Xander felt Spike's body stiffen against him and he knew Spike was coming inside him, and he heard himself cry out, "Yes!" as he came so hard that a few drops hit his chin.
He lay on the bed panting, his heart still racing.
When he'd recovered, Xander rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the condom off of the dildo and tossing it into the trash can by the bed, where it joined many of its brethren. He put the dildo and the lube into the bedside table and closed the drawer. He wiped himself off with a paper towel from the roll on the floor.
He sat there for a while, not really thinking about anything, just feeling vaguely depressed.
After a while, he stood up and went into the bathroom to wash up, avoiding his own gaze in the mirror. He didn't want to look at that guy, that sad guy who spent pretty much every night fucking himself with a piece of plastic and imagining it was his best friend's cock.
Sometimes he felt like a liar, not telling Spike about everything that happened in the time loops. Sort of like he'd molested Spike in his sleep or something. But how was he supposed to tell him now, months later? Remember all those time loops I told you about a while ago? Well, I left out this one tiny detail where you kind of fucked me in the ass repeatedly and I liked it and would like to have it happen again, now, for real. So how 'bout it? And, anyway, they really were friends now, and Xander didn't want to fuck that up. Literally. Or metaphorically. Or whatever.
He dried his hands and walked naked to the kitchen, where he opened the refrigerator door and took out a carton of orange juice. He sat down at the kitchen table and tilted his head back, drinking straight out of the carton, and then looked down at the postcard sitting on the table. He'd left the refrigerator door open, and it lit the room in a strange, elongated rectangle. Xander took another drink of juice and looked again at the postcard.
Well, it wasn't really a postcard, not exactly. The front showed a black-and-white photograph of a man wearing only a leather collar, kneeling at the feet of another man who was shown only from the very muscular -- and very naked -- thigh down. On the other side was printed info about a party at a club. A sort of sex club type place. From what Xander gathered from the blurb, the place seemed to specialize in domination games.
Okay, so, yeah, he'd had a few -- okay, a lot -- of those kinds of fantasies about Spike since the whole time loop thing. Sometimes he imagined them being romantic ... and sometimes he imagined them being just really raunchy and intense ... and sometimes he imagined Spike telling him what to do, sort of like in the time loop, all commanding and ... well ... dominant.
He wasn't actually planning to go to the club. Because what if somebody recognized him? And, anyway, he wasn't interested in that sort of stuff -- or any kind of stuff -- with anybody except Spike.
But he was awfully curious. He wished he could go and just watch, just see what other people did. Then he could imagine what it would be like if Spike...
Xander swiped his hand across the table and sent the postcard flying. It fluttered crazily, reflecting the light from the refrigerator in a strange mini-strobe effect, before landing somewhere in the shadows on the linoleum. Xander shoved the juice carton away, too, and let his head fall into his hands.
He suddenly felt a little guilty for all those years with Willow, back when they were in school. 'Cause this "pining for your best friend" thing sucked, big time.
* * *
"Think the girls'd toss me out if I threw this bottle at the screen?"
"Spike, I'd toss you out. You dare not diss the classics!"
"'Diss'?"
"Yeah, 'diss'."
"What're you, now? Scoobies in the 'Hood?"
"Shut up, Spike."
In the flickering shadows of the living room, Willow and Dawn turned around simultaneously and shushed them. Tara just continued placidly watching the screen.
Spike was only quiet for a few seconds before he was griping again. "And, anyway, this is not a classic. The Iliad is a classic. Anarchy in the U.K. is a classic. This? This is rubbish."
"This is a very moving parable: the tree nobody wanted, finally finding a loving home. It's touching."
"It's tripe. Stupid tree can't even hold up one bloody ornament."
"Hey! Don't be all prejudiced based on ornament supportage! It's a good tree! I've always identified with that tree!"
"Yeah, well, you would, Harris. This shite is written for every pathetic tosser who ever wished somebody would finally see their 'inner beauty' and suddenly want 'em around. World doesn't work like that, whelp. Nobody loves a loser. Not even another loser."
Ouch.
Xander crossed his arms and didn't reply, determinedly watching his beloved cartoon, the rare happy piece of his childhood, the best thing about Christmas ... which Spike had just pissed all over.
The show was almost finished when Spike leaned over and whispered in Xander's ear in a vaguely apologetic tone, "Just can't stand this maudlin holiday shite. Makes me want to stake myself."
Xander didn't turn his head, but whispered, "Well, you don't have to ruin it for everybody else."
Spike didn't apologize, but he did slump in a sort of defeated way that Xander knew meant he'd won the argument. So he nudged Spike and smirked at him in the flickering light. Spike elbowed him in return, and suddenly everything was okay again.
When the show was over and the lights were on, Willow said with a mischievous grin, "Now Xander's supposed to do the Snoopy Dance."
Xander gaped in horror and looked around at all the expectant faces now staring at him. Spike and Dawn looked particularly excited at this opportunity for mockery. Xander glared at Willow, who merely shrugged impishly and said, "It's tradition!"
"No."
"Oh, pleeeeeeeease, Xander?" Dawn had that whining thing down pat, yessirreebob.
"No."
"Oh, pleeeeeeeease, Xander?" Spike mimicked, smirking.
"No!"
"Okay," Willow interrupted, now looking a bit apologetic at having put Xander on the spot. "That was kind of mean and I'm sorry, and anyway it's really late. Sleepy time."
Dawn groaned and began to complain, but Spike said firmly, "Bed. Or no presents," which had her leaping to her feet and bidding everyone a hasty goodnight before racing up the stairs.
Willow looked at Xander and Spike, still sprawled on the couch. "You guys are both staying tonight, right? Presents in the morning?"
Spike sighed heavily and hefted himself off the couch. "I'll do all this Christmas tripe for the Bit, but I don't want to hear any complaints about running patrols tomorrow. Those Bregni demons are still out there and they won't be stopping for eggnog and carolling."
Willow and Tara both nodded, and Willow said, "Got it. Presents in the morning, demons in the evening. It's a wonderful Scooby Christmas."
Xander got to his feet shrugging, "You don't celebrate Christmas anyway. Jewish, remember? Not everyone worships Santa? I seem to remember a certain young lady saying these things pretty much every year?"
Willow smiled slightly, and she and Tara held hands. "It's for Dawn," Tara said gently. "It's her first Christmas without Buffy. We want her to be happy." Yeah, they were saying her name now without wincing, though it still wasn't very often. Sometimes they even talked about the good times, remembering the Buffster for more than just a leap off a tower and an unexpected goodbye.
Xander felt a bit embarrassed and chastened at the reminder, but he nodded understandingly. "Right. Duh."
Both girls just smiled at him, then said goodnight and went upstairs.
Xander turned around to see Spike grinning evilly. "Just us blokes now, Harris. Let's see that Snoopy Dance."
"Shut up, Spike."
* * *
The next day was the usual Christmas morning scene. Torn wrapping paper all over the floor. Sleepy vampire on the couch. Lesbian witches rubbing noses and kissing. A blob of mystical energy in the shape of a girl squealing over every new present. And Xander Harris: Construction Worker to the Hellmouth. Yep. Just your average Christmas in Sunnydale.
Everyone got great presents, of course. They'd all been spending so much time together that they couldn't help but know what to get each other. Well, Xander was a bit shopping-impaired, but Dawn had helped him out some and he'd sort of blundered through the rest as best he could.
When Spike started opening up his gift, he first commented that the package looked as if it had been wrapped by chaos demons. Xander rolled his eyes and tried not to squirm on the couch. He was actually a little -- okay, a lot -- nervous about this one. Spike tore off the paper and tossed it aside, then just stopped and stared at the object in his hands as if he'd never seen one before.
After enough time had passed to make him worried, Xander explained hesitantly, "It's a journal. See? Black leather cover. Unlined pages." He watched Spike's face, which looked confused and maybe even a little affronted.
"And what do I want with a journal?" Spike asked tersely.
Xander flinched, just a little. He couldn't help it. He'd thought for so long about what to get Spike, and he'd thought he'd finally come up with something he'd like but that was more personal than weapons or something like that. "Sorry. I thought ... you just ... you tell good stories, you know? And I thought you might want to write them down. Like, write your memoirs" -- or poetry -- "or whatever."
Spike flipped through the pages and grunted noncomittally.
What an idiot, buying him a journal, just because he was a poet when he was human. It's not like he wants other people to know about all that. He sure didn't seem proud of it. So why would he want a journal? Why would he want to write anything now? God, I'm such an idiot. He probably thinks I'm making fun of him, getting in some little jab about the secret he told me. Oh god, of course that's what he thinks. I'm such an idiot!
Spike put the journal aside and returned to admiring the engraved dagger Dawn had given him. Xander's stomach tightened into a miserable little knot and he decided that was a good time to wander away in search of some eggnog and a cookie. Because right now, I need a cookie.
* * *
Xander wasn't feeling very chipper as they gathered for the Christmas Night patrol. Spike was right: there were Bregni demons out there causing trouble and they needed to find them. But Xander just wanted to go home and have a nice long sulk where nobody could see him. Spike hadn't liked his gift ... Spike had given him a set of knives (nothing says "impersonal" like a gift of weaponry) ... and Spike was (as always) utterly oblivious to Xander's attempts at subtle flirtation.
Yeah. In the time loop it must have just been some macho challenge thing, just trying to prove something. Not like he would ever want to have sex with me normally. Obviously.
Sometimes too much time around Spike, doing the buddy thing, just got to him. Because he didn't want to be Spike's buddy. He wanted to make Spike's eyes do that glazed, hot, needy thing they'd done during the time loop. He wanted Spike to look at him like that. And a whole Christmas Eve and Christmas Day of Spike buddy time was a little hard to take. Xander felt like his Goofy Xander Friend Guy act was wearing pretty thin.
"If we run into the Bregni, you girls find a place to hide. Make with the mojo from a nice safe spot out of the fighting range. Xander and I'll take 'em on closer up."
Xander thought sullenly, Who died and made you boss? and then winced. Right. Somebody did. He watched Spike pace around the kitchen barking orders, looking so much like the old Spike, all full of arrogant swagger, no trace of that invisible thing he used to do. Xander wondered if this was how Spike used to treat his minions, back when he had them. Anyway, his little voyage into megalomania is my fault. I'm the one who kept insisting on pulling him into the gang. And he does have the most knowledge and experience.
"Can I come?" Dawn was all wide eyes and hopeful grin, bouncing a bit on the balls of her feet.
"No." Spike's voice was firm.
"But I've been learning how to fight."
"And you'll keep learning. Don't want you getting hurt, so you're staying home this time."
Dawn made whiny complaining noises, but Spike wasn't impressed. "At least you don't make me have a babysitter," she groused.
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Keep it up and I will."
Dawn stormed off in a huff, leaving the rest of them to roll their eyes and gather their patrol gear.
* * *
The patrol itself was pretty uneventful. The five of them just meandered through one cemetery after another, looking for signs of the Bregni demon gang. Spike had decided to bring the Bot for extra muscle, as he did sometimes now, but he mostly kept her at a distance, telling her to walk with Willow and Tara.
"You bring those new knives with you?" Spike asked him as they walked.
Xander shrugged. Stupid knives. What did I expect? Flowers? Jewelry? Poems? Lingerie? Stupid knives. Stupid Spike. Stupid Xander.
"Special throwing knives," Spike continued. "Specifically weighted and balanced for throwing."
Xander nodded. "Neat." He knew he could sound more pouty if he tried. Maybe he could get some lessons from Dawn.
"Figured it was time you had something better than those old things of mine."
Xander nodded again, looking anywhere but at Spike. "Yeah. I'm sure they'll be real useful. Thanks." Next year, could you get me a vacuum cleaner? Mine's getting kind of old. Or maybe a washing machine. Because that would be almost as romantic, but not quite.
Spike stopped walking, making Xander stop and turn to look at him questioningly.
"What's your fucking problem, Harris?"
Oooh. Back to the last name. Somebody's getting a bit testy. Xander sighed. "I don't have a problem, Spike. What's your problem?"
"You." Spike was scowling. "You've been a pain in the ass all day."
Xander clenched his teeth. Great. A fight. That would be just the best way to end a stellar Christmas. "So sorry I haven't been behaving according to your specifications."
Spike growled, "I'm just getting tired of dealing with your moody shit."
Ouch.
"Fine," Xander spat. "I'll just go home." And he stormed off, striding through the cemetery as fast as he could walk. He knew he was being childish, but he just couldn't deal anymore. He knew Spike wouldn't leave the girls unprotected -- not now that he seemed to think they were all his little family to protect -- so Xander didn't have to worry about being followed. He could just go home and have a beer and watch some tv and do something that didn't involve Spike. Because he just couldn't do this anymore right now. He couldn't pretend everything was okay. Because it wasn't. Not by a long shot.
* * *
Xander was sitting on his couch in the dark, watching a Stargate: SG-1 re-run, when he heard a knock at the door. He wasn't expecting anybody, so he just pretended not to hear.
Knock knock knock knock.
Xander hunkered down on the couch. Go away.
Knock knock knock knock.
Xander was tempted to turn the television up, but he figured that would only make it more obvious that someone was home, and might make the person outside more persistent. So he just kept his eyes on the tv, the remote cradled comfortingly in his hand.
Knock knock knock knock. "Harris, I know you're in there. Open the fucking door."
Just what I need. "Go away, Spike."
"No." Spike sounded pissed at him. Even better. "Open the fucking door or I will break your lock."
Spike would do it, too, just to be annoying. Just to prove he could. Just to win a stupid argument.
Xander hauled himself off the couch and opened the front door a crack. "What do you want?" he asked, and he knew he sounded tired, drained, but he just didn't have the strength to pretend right now. He just wanted to be left alone.
Spike pushed the door open and stepped around Xander to come inside, glancing around at the lack of lights. "Sittin' in the dark?"
Xander rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "Why is it any of your business, Spike?"
"Anything you lot do is my business."
Xander sighed again. "And why's that, Spike? Why do you even care?"
Spike frowned at him and walked over to the kitchen, opening up the fridge and taking out a beer. He took off the cap and drank a swig, leaning back against the counter, watching Xander in the dark. "You've been acting off," he said bluntly. "Pissy like. What's your problem?"
Xander sort of lied, "I don't have a problem, Spike. Except a vampire barging into my house, stealing my beer, and interrupting my television-watching."
Spike narrowed his eyes suspiciously and took another drink of his beer. He set the bottle down on the counter and moved as if he were going to walk toward Xander, except something distracted him. He tilted his head down, looking at the floor, and murmured, "What's this now?" and then bent to pick something up.
Oh fuck! Is that what I think it is? Please tell me Spike did not find what I think he found. Because I have done nothing to deserve this and this day has sucked enough already and I don't know what I'll do if he found what I think he found.
But Spike was holding up a postcard. Xander couldn't see it very well in the dark, but he knew one side of it was a photo of a man kneeling, wearing nothing but a leather collar.
Spike's voice seemed suddenly very loud in the dark apartment when he said slowly, "Where'd you find this?"
Xander blushed and didn't reply. Why couldn't Spike have just left when he didn't answer the door? Why did Spike have to barge in and make this night suck even worse?
Spike turned the card over to read the back, then raised an eyebrow. "A free pass. Somebody gave this to you. Didn't just find it on the street."
Xander crossed his arms and bit his lip, knowing that his blush was only getting worse. What was he supposed to say? Oh, well, you see, the cashier put that in the bag when I bought my new butt plug, which I like to use while I fantasize about you fucking me. "Spike, I'm tired. Can we please not talk about this?" he asked in what he hoped was not a pathetic voice.
Spike shook his head, frowning. "I don't think so. Do you even know what this place is? Way out of your depth, Harris."
That sent Xander's eyes up from where they'd been staring at his feet. Now he glared at Spike defensively. "Oh, I'm just some dumb kid?"
Spike cocked his head to the side. "Not a kid, no." And then Spike held up the card with the naked-guys photo facing Xander. He could barely see it in the light flickering from the tv. It's not porny. All their bits are ... hidden. It's like art photography. Spike's voice was a challenge: "But you do realize what sort of club this is?"
Xander squirmed and didn't reply. God. Spike was the last person he wanted to be having this conversation with, making him think of all his fantasies, all the things he remembered from the looping. Hell, it was Spike's fault he was even thinking about any of this stuff! Not that Spike knew anything about that, of course. It was all so complicated and embarrassing and he just wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.
But Spike was talking again, sort of patient and concerned, like he was Xander's dad or something. If Xander's dad had ever been patient and concerned. "This is a domination club, Harris. A predominantly gay one."
Xander's chin went up slightly. Spike's know-it-all parental thing was grating on his nerves. "How do you know so much about it?"
Spike scowled. "Still evil, here. I know the seedy side of this little burg."
"Hey!" Xander frowned, offended, not even thinking before he spoke. "It's not necessarily ... Just because it's ... that ... doesn't mean it's 'seedy'."
Spike's eyebrows went up. "Well, this place is. What ... you looking to get offed by some leather queen, get found starkers in some alley with a ball gag in your mouth?"
Xander gritted his teeth. "We're not talking about this anymore."
Spike nodded. "Because you aren't going."
Xander glared at him, frustrated and embarrassed and sort of angry all at the same time. "It's none of your business, Spike. Just drop it."
"Fuck that," Spike spat. "You're not going."
"Spike, what gave you the impression that you have the right to tell me what to do? Because you don't. So get the fuck out of my house."
Spike's chin lifted. "Fine. Then I'm going with you. Make sure you don't do anything stupid."
Xander yelped, "What? No! No way!"
Spike walked toward him, only stopping when he was right in Xander's face. "These kinds of games can be dangerous if you get involved with strangers."
"Oh, what, you offering?" Xander spat bitterly, feeling hurt and resentful and like he might burst into tears and embarrass himself even worse than he already had. Why hadn't he thrown away that stupid postcard?
Spike, you prick, you complete and utter asshole, can't you just leave me alone to nurse my rejection in private? Do you have to come over and rub the whole thing in my face?
Xander said quietly, defeated, "Spike, look, please, just go. I'm really tired. I can't do this right now."
Spike was still standing close to him, close enough that his face was clear in the flickering light. He was watching Xander with a strange expression.
And suddenly Xander was sure he couldn't have heard right, couldn't possibly have heard right, because it sounded remarkably as if Spike had just said, "Yeah, I'm offering."
Xander frowned, confused, because there was no possible way that Spike meant what that had sounded like. "You're 'offering'? Offering what?"
"If you're so curious about this sort of thing, I'll show you a bit. Leastways you know I won't kill you."
Xander stared at Spike in shock, his mouth open but no words coming out. Did Spike just say what I thought he said? Because that doesn't seem remotely possible. Did Spike just ... offer to have sex with me? Just to keep me from supposedly getting killed by some random guy at a sex club?
Xander gulped and stammered, "I'm not your pity case, Spike." He can't be saying what I think he is. But what if he is? Does he really want this? Does he want me? Or ... even if he doesn't now ... maybe he'll start, if we...
Spike smirked at him. "Not pity, brat. Think I won't get anything out of it? Ain't gonna be me on my knees in this picture."
And those words sent such a rush of heat through Xander's body that he thought he might fall down. The image Spike had just put in his head ... it was so similar to the time loop ... so similar to so many of his fantasies. It all seemed surreal. Spike goes from yelling at him to offering to ... offering to ... to what, exactly? He still wasn't entirely sure.
Xander hesitated, then ventured, "Um ... so ... the party is on New Year's Eve."
"You aren't ready for a club."
"What do you mean? I've been to lots of clubs. Well, I mean, I've been to The Bronze, and there was this one time in Oxnard, when I ... well, I've been other places, but nothing like..."
Spike interrupted him to say simply, "Take off your clothes."
Xander's jaw dropped. When enough of his brains had crawled their way back into his head and he was able to form words again, he squeaked, "What?"
Spike nodded, looking smug. "Right there. Proof you're not ready."
Xander was frowning now. "What the heck are you talking about?"
Spike walked to the couch and sat down, sprawling comfortably while watching Xander all the while. "I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions. No excuses. No arguments. You do it. You talk when I tell you to talk. You strip when I tell you to strip." Spike settled himself and raised one eyebrow expectantly. "Now, I seem to remember I told you to do something."
Xander hesitated, wanting to ask what exactly was going on, wanting to be sure he wasn't misinterpreting, but Spike had pretty clearly told him not to ask questions, to just do what he was told. This was probably all a dream, anyway, because stuff like this just didn't happen to him, so he might as well go with it.
Keeping his eyes on Spike's, watching for any clue, Xander lowered his hand nervously to the button at his waist. When he unbuttoned the waistband of his jeans, Spike's face seemed to relax slightly, not smiling but looking somehow pleased, though whether he was pleased with himself or with Xander was impossible to tell.
He was just starting to lower his zipper when he realized he was still wearing his shirts. Oh, yeah. That would be sexy. Drop my pants and stand here in my shirt and socks. Xander started unbuttoning his long-sleeved shirt, suddenly becoming self-conscious about the fact that it was red with big green circles on it. It was Christmas, after all. But standing in his living room with Spike watching him take off his clothes, the shirt suddenly seemed ridiculous, like a clown suit without the nose and floppy shoes. He tried to get the gaudy shirt off as quickly as possible, but he'd forgotten to unbutton the cuffs and it got caught on his hands. He struggled briefly and tossed it on the ground, blushing.
"Slow down, yeah?" Spike drawled lazily. "'S not a race. Give me a bit of a show." He smirked and Xander felt a moment of panic that this whole thing was just a complicated Spike joke to make him look stupid. But Spike wasn't usually that cruel anymore. And the smirk seemed more ... sexy ... than mocking. So Xander gulped and nodded. Slow. Show. He couldn't help finishing off a rhyme: Blah blah blah blah blow. Ack! No, not blow! Or ... um ... yes, blow? What exactly does Spike have in mind here?
Xander hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other, and then started slowly pulling his t-shirt out of the waist-band of his jeans, still watching Spike's face uncertainly.
"Tease me," Spike said from his sprawl on the couch. "Stroke your stomach. Lift up the shirt a bit, give me a glimpse, let it fall again. Make me want to see more."
Xander gulped and slowly ran his hand over his stomach, over his black t-shirt, but just feeling his muscles calmed him down a bit, made him feel a little more confident. Yeah, he'd been working out since Buffy's death. It passed the time, and it seemed to work off some of the emotions he didn't know how to deal with. Since the time loop, he'd been spending even more time with the weights. Frustration was a strong motivator.
Xander licked his lips and caught his breath when he saw Spike's eyes follow the movement. Maybe this really was his chance to make Spike notice him as something more than a buddy.
Still stroking his stomach lazily, Xander let one hand slide underneath, lifting the shirt slightly as Spike had instructed, giving Spike a glimpse of the smooth skin of his belly. He stroked his fingers slowly across his stomach muscles and kept his eyes on Spike, who was now watching that sliver of revealed skin. Xander let the shirt fall again, hoping he'd done what Spike said, hoping he'd made Spike want more. Please please let him want more.
Xander smoothed both hands up his body to his chest, then plucked at both nipples through the fabric, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment at the sensation. When he opened his eyes, he saw Spike watching him with that hunger in his eyes, that look he'd had during the time loop, and Xander was suddenly hard. All the way hard. Embarrassingly hard. If Spike was just waiting to mock him, he was going to have plenty of ammunition.
Licking his lips again, Xander found himself almost drunk on Spike's intense gaze on his mouth. Come kiss me, he thought. You keep watching my mouth. Come kiss me. I've been thinking about it for months. Every time we're alone, I think about it. Every time you look at me for more than a few seconds, I think about it. So kiss me. Please. I've been wanting you to look at me like this, and now you finally are. Like you think I'm hot. Oh god. I think I'm going to die if you don't kiss me.
He didn't realize how long he'd been standing there, looking from Spike's eyes to Spike's lips and back again, until Spike said, "Not stopping, are you? Thought you wanted this game."
Xander's head jerked in some semblance of a nod. Right. Game. Do what Spike says. It's like Simon Says ... only incredibly hot and sort of confusing. Xander began slowly lifting his t-shirt, revealing his stomach and chest inch by inch. Once he got the shirt to his armpits, there just didn't seem to be any sexy way to get the shirt the rest of the way off, so he just whipped it over his head. He had a momentary giddy image of himself swinging the shirt around over his head and then throwing it at Spike, but that was just too cheesy, so he let the shirt fall to the floor instead.
Spike was running his eyes over Xander's bared skin, making Xander's stomach do funny twisty things. Spike was actually looking at him. Not just like a pal. Merry Christmas to me.
Emboldened by Spike's obvious interest, Xander stroked his stomach again, licking his lips, his eyes half-closed as he watched for even the tiniest reactions. Spike shifted slightly, making Xander wonder if he wasn't the only one getting hard. That thought, of course, only made him harder.
He stroked his hands up to his chest and tweaked both nipples again, which made him moan slightly. Touching himself like this, with Spike there, watching and apparently interested, was the closest he'd come to sex in a long time. It made everything more intense.
"Suck your finger," Spike said huskily. "Want to watch you suck it."
Xander shuddered, an image of himself on his knees, sucking Spike's cock, nearly overwhelming him. He put his index finger in his mouth and began sucking, slow, the way Spike had liked. He kept his eyes on Spike, fascinated and amazed at how the other man's eyes had gone dark and hot. He wants me. I think he actually wants me.
"Now use that finger on your nipple," Spike said, watching him closely, leaning slightly forward as if to see better.
Oh yeah. I think we have an answer on whether or not I like this game. Because Spike giving me orders? Definitely twanging my thang.
Xander slid the finger out of his mouth and used it to circle his nipple, teasing himself, and then pinched lightly, sending that tiny shock of pleasure downward again.
"Take off the trousers."
Another moment of panic. How was he supposed to take off his pants without bending over and tripping like a dork? Well, one thing was certain. The socks had to come off first, because there was no way in hell he was going to stand in front of Spike wearing boxers and socks. Any small amount of hotness Spike might see in him would be instantly destroyed.
Oh hell. I'm wearing my Marvin the Martian boxers. Why didn't I wear ... uh ... okay, I have no boxers appropriate for this situation. Okay, honest? I can't imagine boxers appropriate for this situation. Um ... maybe I can go shopping after work tomorrow. Because I don't think Spike'll be turned on by the lipstick-kiss ones, either. Or the happy faces. My underwear is undignified. Why didn't I ever notice this before? Why didn't I realize the hugeness of the problem? Uh ... hugeness. Yeah, there's that problem, too. If I take off my pants, Spike'll see that I'm enjoying this more than a little bit. Yes, definitely more than a little. But isn't that the point? Wait. Is that the point? What is the point?
"Trousers," Spike repeated, sounding impatient. Right. He told me to do something. I'm supposed to do it. That's the game.
Xander bent over and pulled off one sock, then switched feet and pulled off the other sock. He stood straight again and looked over at Spike, who was watching him patiently, slouching back on the couch. Xander raised his hands to the front of his jeans and swallowed nervously. Spike just watched him. Xander lowered his zipper very slowly, not because he was trying to tease, but because he was anxious about letting Spike see exactly how much he was enjoying this little game.
"Off," Spike insisted when Xander hesitated. Xander considered whether to pull off the boxers at the same time as the jeans, in order to avoid the Marvin the Martian problem, but Spike seemed to be pretty insistent that Xander follow his instructions, so he didn't want to piss Spike off. That might end the game. And Xander did not want to end the game. No. No ending of the game. Even if it means underweary humiliation.
Xander began pushing the jeans down over his hips, worrying about what he was going to do when he would normally bend down and pull them off with the help of some very un-sexy hopping. He didn't think the hopping would turn Spike on. It seemed somehow unlikely.
So he just kept pushing the jeans down, bending over slightly, still keeping his eyes on Spike, who looked interested. When he got the jeans pushed down far enough past his knees, they crumpled down around his feet and he was able to just step out of them. One of the benefits of baggy jeans, I guess. So why have I been doing the hopping thing all these years? I'm sure Spike doesn't do the hopping thing when he takes off his pants. The image of Spike taking off his pants sent another wave of lust through him. The image of Spike without his pants was even better.
He was standing now, looking at Spike, feeling his face burn with a boner-awareness blush. But Spike didn't look like he was going to make fun of either Xander's boner or Marvin the Martian. If anything, he looked hungry. He had that hot look in his eyes again, that look like he wanted to throw Xander down on the floor and do nasty things to him. Oh yes! Please? Where do I sign up for the nasty things?
Spike jerked his chin toward Xander's boxers and said, "Them too."
Xander nodded nervously. Okay. We're getting past R-rated territory now and heading straight for the full monty. Though I'm not sure if 'straight' is the right word to use. But if I do this, we can't go back to the just buddies thing. Because then we'll be naked buddies. Or, half-way naked buddies, since I'm the only one naked. Well, not naked yet. But will be naked. And then I'll have been naked. And then we'll be patrolling, and it'll be all 'yeah, but I've seen you naked', because that just never goes away. We'll be playing pool at The Bronze and the naked thing will be there. I mean, not like my thing will be naked, because naked thing at The Bronze? Not my thing.
Spike was watching him expectantly. Xander slid his fingers into the elastic waistband of his boxers and did a bit of finagling to get the elastic past his erection. Only a moment later, the boxers were at his feet and he stepped out of them, leaving him standing in front of Spike, completely naked ... and as nervous as he'd probably ever been in his entire life.
"Nice," Spike commented, eyes on Xander's hard-on. "Touch it."
Xander felt his cock throb in response. He reached with one hand and took hold of himself, squeezing gently, making himself moan again, watching Spike through lowered lashes.
"Make yourself come." Spike's voice was a little harsh. "Want to watch you."
Xander knew he was blushing again. Spike wanted to watch him come? He gulped. Okay, just knowing that was going to make the event humiliatingly speedy. He stroked himself once, squeezing again, but he didn't have any lube. He spit into his hand -- oh very sexy -- and stroked himself again, gasping. He kept his eyes on Spike's face, trying to read the expression in Spike's eyes.
It only took a few strokes. He'd been too worked up for too long. He was still watching Spike's eyes when he felt the orgasm crash through his body, making his eyes close, making his whole body stiffen and buck, making him sob out some inarticulate sound. He nearly fell down, which would have been the final indignity, but he somehow kept his feet and eventually opened his eyes, his breath still quick, his heart still beating fast, his body weak and throbbing, his dick softening in his hand.
Spike was watching him with eyes narrowed, his own chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
"Good boy," he rasped, as if he too had been running the orgasm marathon. "Can go get cleaned up now."
Xander nodded, though his head felt like it was just sort of rolling around all out of control like one of those bobbing-head dolls old people put on the dashboards of their cars. His neck seemed to be made of rubber. The rest of his body seemed to have melted. He wondered how he was going to manage to walk to the bathroom when his legs had been dismantled while he wasn't looking.
He somehow managed to walk, though, and closed the bathroom door for some private freak-out time while he washed himself off.
Holy guacamole! I just jacked off in front of Spike! Because he told me to! What now? What does he want? Because he looked pretty wanty.
But when he came out of the bathroom, Spike was gone. Xander walked, still naked, to the kitchen, where he saw the postcard sitting face down on the table, the text side facing up, with all its information about domination parties and sex clubs. Across the back, covering most of the text, there were four letters scrawled in thick pen: DON'T.