Xanderslut

by the Webrain - Debchan, The Spike, Te

July-August 2000

Disclaimers: If they belonged to us, we'd all die of dehydration.

Spoilers: Assorted things through 4th season.

Summary: Xander has his mojo working.

Pairings: Yes.

Ratings Note: NC-17 for smut, smut, and also some smut.

Acknowledgments: Love to Mighty Mighty Dawn Sharon, who audienced for us yet again, and to the beautiful -- you can look at her! -- Laura Shapiro, for many helpful suggestions.

Feedback: Worshipped at debit@concentric.net, spike21@home.com, and thete1@earthlink.net.

*

It was all set. Xander had surrendered his pride and morality and flat out blackmailed Uncle Rory this time -- pay for the car's overhaul or get a call from the IRS about his years of freelance taxidermy. The Chevy purred just like the world's happiest lioness. Female, because this baby clearly did all the hunting.

Oh, yeah. He may not be Carguy, but he stole Carguy's wheels.

All the better to get the hell out of Sunnyhell.

Just as soon as Anya removed her long, lithe, and exceedingly naked body from it's highly effective lounge on his minimal luggage. That Priapus statue he'd gotten for Rock -- it made the lamp feel inadequate -- had to be poking her in the back. Abruptly, Anya squirmed, sank back a few more inches and... squealed.

Clearly not a hindrance.

"Look, Anya, we *discussed* this. You knew I was leaving today."

"All of my studies indicate that you are supposed to make some sign of our love that causes me to sway on my feet. They were very definite about the swaying."

"But you're not *on* your feet."

"I'm making it easier for you. Once you have provided me with an orgasm that makes me scream, I will then stand very quickly. I will sway. Now strip."

And, really, the familiarity of the situation could only jade him to a certain point. Which was abruptly passed when Anya fanned out her thighs, revealing her pinkly perfect sex. Redly perfect. Her inner lips were already starting to crinkle up at the edges and he could smell her impossibly *innocent* scent, so thick and raw with no sign of douche or feminine powder and his clothes went flying.

It was *good* to own large amounts of loose clothing, as he rarely had to pause to take off his shoes. Anya found the look boyish and disturbingly sexual and he was down and in, thighs up and over his shoulders and he cupped her ass in both hands, smooth and smooth and still so *new* and he decided to flip her over.

The Priapus statue smacked him in the forehead before going flying, but that was OK.

Round white bottom. Anya still had problems with the idea of voluntary sunshine. Said it had always made her veins ache and *he* ached and he spread her cheeks with his thumbs and dove in. Anya was yelling immediately and he pushed her face down into his open suitcase and stabbed and stabbed and kissed and breathed and slipped a hand under his chin to dip and curl into her sex.

Wet and ready for him. Stretched to size, his size, no one else but him ever went there and he thrust and thrust in rhythm and out, tongue too used to this and others to get tired and the next thing he knew, Anya had his favorite khaki shorts between her teeth and was worrying them like a terrier in the moments before she convulsed on him hard enough to hurt.

Again. Again and Again.

And she growled around his shorts long and low and, just as Xander was repositioning himself, stood up.

And swayed.

"Now you can go."

"But --"

"This is where you wink smugly at me, turn around, and walk away." She looked down at him. Tapped her foot. "Well?"

"I --" And Xander shook his head. Sighed a little brokenly. Stood and winced. The argument would lose him this whole day for travel. And the night, too, considering Anya's apologies. It would fade before he got over to Willow's to say goodbye. It had to.

Xander winked, picked up his few bags, and limped manfully up the stairs.

*

And it did fade, more or less -- or at least deflated a bit, leaving him feeling sticky and not a little bereft in the front seat of the Bel-Aire.

Still, nothing sunshine, a streetful of pretty girls and a Black Raspberry Rocket wouldn't cure. He'd become well acquainted with the curative powers of various icy treats and there was nothing like the blood-red slightly bulbous head of a... hmmm.

Xander pulled the popsicle out of his mouth and squinted at it suspiciously for a minute. Licked his tingling lips. Hmmm.

There should be some kind of thought forming here, he thought. But no thought stepped up to fill in the blank except perhaps a slightly fuzzy picture of Giles reaching for a book on a very high shelf... Which made no sense at all and so he shrugged.

Slid the popsicle as deep as it could go to keep it from dripping on his shirt and put the car back in gear.

The guy in the jeep one lane over veered suddenly and nearly hit a mailbox.

Xander would have stopped, but the Papaya Split on a Stick and Frozen Banana he'd picked up for Willow and Tara were sweating on the front seat. They were best enjoyed when firm.

"Are you *sure* you're okay, Xander?" Willow asked when he finished explaining why they needed to get shoved firmly and repeatedly into the frozen hash browns until they were seated in the coldest part of the fridge. She pressed a cool hand to his sweaty forehead. It's pretty sunny out there in your car with out a roof over your hat."

"Or... or a-a-a head," stammered Tara, dipping her chin. Xander couldn't help following her chin down to the slightly shiny expanse of chest that ended in really pretty extravagant cleavage. He also couldn't help but notice the way sweat had left a pretty little line down the middle of her tank top. He also kinda of noticed that he was staring really badly. He yanked his eyes up by the roots.

"Oh, I -- I have a head," said Xander. "Right over my hat. Don't you worry..."

And okay, that was a *lot* worse, and they were both staring at him now and both of them had tanktops and sweat drips and oh look! Nipples! And Willow was frowning in that, going to get out my witchdoctor kit and take your pants off Xander way and... oh oh. Badness.

Just how big a faux pas *was* it to get a hard on in a lesbian's kitchen anyway?

Probably no worse that say, fondling your breast friends mother's boobs while making popcorn or even thinking about it -- do *not* think of Joyce in a red nightie or Willow and Tara in black leather and -- oh. Oh...

"Xander?"

Ice cream. He could do ice-cream! And so he fell back on his near perfect frozen-delicacy skills and dove back into the freezer. Came up with a treat in each hand.

"Um," he gulped. "Frosty treat?" They were standing awfully close and Tara wasn't looking at him, she was looking down and kind of smiling and Willow was...

"Papaya?" His voice cracked. Willow's hand was... on his hip and sliding. Warm. "Banana?"

"I'm maybe in the mood for... both," Willow said. Her other hand was in the small of his back, also southward going. He could smell her. And wasn't that amazing how her smell hadn't changed at all. She still smelled like Willow, warm and spicy and freshly green like rose-stems.

"If you don't mind us sharing," Tara said. And wasn't it interesting how she smelled so different from Willow and yet also so very much like a... a... a hand on his nipples, short sharp nailed, tweaking and he gasped when she giggled.

"Sharing," he said. "Good. Sharing. Very." And maybe she wasn't so shy as all that, with her hand sliding down his stomach now to find Willow's. Small fingers meeting across the undeniable breach of lesbian etiquette under his fly and it was way too warm in this kitchen.

Frozen treats dribbled down his wrists. Willow and Tara's mouths met just under his chin. He watched them kiss, couldn't help licking his own lips over and over. The heat and pressure of their hands working him made his knees want to buckle. His eyes want to roll up. His body

remember where it was half an hour ago.

"I think I had a dream about this," he tells them. They break apart, their lips clinging softly. They look at him and smile, happy smiles that have secrets in them but only nice ones. Ones that they might share.

"We know," Tara says. "I saw it." Tara must have been wearing peach lipstick because Willow's lips are a little smudged. Xander has a sudden craving for peach lipstick. Or lipstick any flavor.

"And that's... okay?" he asks.

"Definitely okay," said Tara, opening the button of his fly.

"Really, just fine," said Willow, pulling the zipper down.

"Very nice," said Tara, hooking his jeans with one finger and tugging.

"Told you," said Willow, sliding her hand under the waistband of his boxers

"Hey, how did... oh..."

Willow's mouth was amazingly hot. Hotter than the room even. Definitely hotter than his wrists which were down right glazed with coolness, all the way down his forearms and dripping off his elbows and what was he thinking about? Willow's mouth, his body reminded him. Willow's. Mouth. There. Sliding so slick over the head of your cock. Making you whimper. You know you're whimpering, right?

"Yes..." Xander whimpered.

But then the mouth was gone and Willow and Tara were kissing again just down around his knees this time and ohhh he wanted to be down there. Down there where Tara was pulling up Willow's tank top and Willow was pulling off Tara's tank top. And where there were breasts. Little perky Willow breasts with pinky nipples and fuller, lusher Tara breasts with nipples like rosy plums and soft lips kissing kissing and soft sighs...

"Unnngh..." he managed, wanting so badly to touch them, to stroke rosepetal skin. Bury his face in warm sweet-smelling hair and kiss and kiss. But he was jammed up hard against the fridge and his hands were full and they were so close. A hand each on his shaking thighs and his cock was rigid, drooling, laying down beads and glitter on Tara's bare shoulders as she slipped a hand into the V of Willow's thighs, pushed Willow down.

Willow on her back now on the warm patchy Congoleum floor, Holding her knees to her breasts, head back and ohh that blissful smile. He knew that smile... Thrust helplessly at air spattering them both with chocolate and papaya and pre-come. Willow's body all dotted and Tara looked up at him and oh no, not shy at all, that dark and cinnamon smile. Tongue over lips and:

"Share with me, Xander?"

And he must have nodded or something because she guided him down to his knees. Down on his knees before Willow, beautiful Willow, smiling up at him. Hand on his shoulder urging him forward. He tried to hand Tara the ice creams but she just shook her head, stroked his back, his hair. Pushed him down.

Handless. Where he wanted to go. Hand under his chest steadying, stroking as he bent to Willow -- smell of Willow, glisten pink, copper- fuzzed lips. Xander groaned, he couldn't help it, his cock throbbing hard between his thighs. He dipped his tongue in. Tasted.

So delicate, tang and salt and Willow surged against him and Tara pushed him closer still and oh, *God*. He can't breathe for a moment, just surrounded by Willow's healthy fine scent and she's wet, making ohhhh sounds like the one she made that time when they weren't supposed to and they were the last ones in the classroom and he'd helplessly brushed the side of his hand over her breast and they'd both fled.

But not now, not with Tara's hand tracing strange ticklishness under his shirt all over his back and his hands might as well be tied where they are, resting uncomfortably next to his hips -- there's no way he's going to... going to mess her up with all...

And there's no thinking, just his mouth proceeding to do everything he'd ever wanted to with no conscious instruction and yes, she liked being sucked and Tara squeezed at his ass and slipped between his legs again and Xander sucked and licked for all he was worth.

Because Tara's touch was in some way connected to the way Willow writhed and thrust against his face, the sounds she made and the drum of her feet on the floor. Reward or maybe punishment -- nails scraping here and there, making him jump and moan hard into Willow's sex -- or maybe Christ maybe she'd never done this before and suddenly the whole world is hotter and Xander's *fucking* Tara's hand and Willow is digging her fingers into Xander's scalp and pumping and either cursing or gurgling.

And Xander felt his eyes roll back in his head just as he shot all over the kitchen floor, making Tara jump behind him and oh her breasts *had* to be bouncing and the next thing he knew he was flying -- gently -- out of the way and most of Tara's hand was disappearing inside Willow and Willow was flushed red and pumping up up up off the floor and *her* breasts were bouncing and Xander watched.

And watched.

And also watched.

*

It was only when Xander was back and driving that the full extent of the situation hit him.

Willow. And Tara. There had even been snugglies afterward. It was, he thought with stunned awe, every man's dream come true.

Okay, maybe the kitchen part not so much. His knees were still smarting from the linoleum burns. But still. All in all a pretty incredible day.

And now he was on his way out of town. Relaxed, a little bewildered but happy with his good fortune /God *really* likes me/, and okay with pretty much everything. It didn't even bother him that he hadn't cleaned up before leaving and that his hands stuck to the steering wheel.

So when he saw Riley and Graham trudging down the sidewalk in a manner that could only be described as glum, he pulled over.

"Hey. Need a ride?"

Graham looked at Xander as if he really wasn't sure, but Riley said, "Yeah," looked at the back seat crowed with luggage and added, "If you have room."

"You can both fit up front. Bench seat."

Feeling chock full of virtue -- Xander the good Samaritan, helping those unencumbered with cars arrive safely at their chosen destination -- he scooted over as first Riley, then Graham slid into the front seat next to him.

Back into lazy afternoon traffic and speaking as he turned to half-face them, "so, where you two crazy ex-commando kids... heading..." Trailed off weakly.

Both of them were sniffing the air.

Maybe would have been a good idea to use that organic tea soap stuff by Tara's sink. Turned back to the road and tried to look innocent. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Riley blushing furiously. Graham... Graham no longer looked at all glum, unless glum had called up Webster's and demanded they change its definition to "hungry and evil."

Uh oh.

No, wait, all he had to do was focus. They'd assume it was Anya and that Xander was just the kind of sick, sticky bastard who wanted to smell like her inner goodness all day. Yes.

Though technically it was just his hair that smelled like Anya. On the inside, Xander thwapped himself. Wondered just what those uber steroids the guys were weaning themselves off of did for their sense of smell.

Quietly thanked every god he could think of that Oz was *nowhere* around.

Tried again at the red light. "Er... guys?" Turned to find that Graham had not moved a muscle. He may have even skipped blinking.

He had infected Riley with his not-glumness.

"Why am I thinking that we maybe should have just made you guys some new drugs?"

Graham licked his lips.

Riley smiled. "Some of us are staying at school for the summer. The frat house will be fine."

"School. Yes. Heh heh... yeah." And Xander put up his imaginary blinders and focused on breaking several local ordinances in order to get them where they needed to go. He would drop them off, run away, run a little further, and then call Buffy before they morphed into big hungry demon wants his anabolic steroid things. Yes.

One of them popped in a Creedence tape. Run through the Jungle.

Xander drove faster and -- yes! -- safely arrived at their frat. Xander kept his foot on the gas and his hand on the keys and Graham stepped out of the car almost there almost there and Riley...

Paused.

"Xander..." And he sounded almost soothing...

"Yes?"

"You have to understand," and began uncurling Xander's fingers from the keys one by one, "you're the first thing to make Graham smile in *weeks*."

"I tell of the jokes. Make funny. Ha ha. No need to -- eep!"

The man himself, helpfully opening Xander's door, and even more helpfully lifting him out of the car. Nobody paid any attention and Xander thought to himself, not for the first time, that it was amazing what soldiers could ignore. Why, here he was, thrown over a large Aryan boy's shoulder, for to make the boy smile, and not a single person did anything.

Except for the nice young man who offered to gag Xander.

"No, thanks," said Riley, "we've got him."

"Ah, Riley, for what exactly do you have the him. That is me. Hey, watch those hands!"

"Aw, Graham's practically beaming, Xander! I wish you could see it."

"He will."

Bounce, bounce, bounce up the stairs and yes, Xander had stepped aboard the Love Train because -- bounce -- on the bed and Graham was definitely smiling. Grinning. Leering.

Looming.

Over Xander. Shoulder on about the level of Riley's head.

Both of them stripping cheerfully and yes, hey, little Mr. Xander was happily stretching after his nap. And stretching. Oh, boy. "Hey, uh, guys? Is this some sort of hazing thing?"

Graham paused mid-shimmy, barely tanned skin stretched taut over long, rangy muscle, half out of his khakis and blond there, too and -- "I don't know. Would that work for you?"

"I --"

And that was all he had time to get out before a strong hand wrapped tight around his wrist and Riley began to systematically lick him clean.

Mmmphed around a finger: "You sure had a good morning."

And then -- bounce! -- Graham was on the bed, crouched over him, still smiling and silently stripping off his pants and Riley groaned and Xander felt his eyebrows join his hairline because, hey, Riley was licking Willow. And Tara.

And Anya.

Xander had become the Slut Axis.

And Riley's mouth was so *hot* and his grip was so *hard* and he thought maybe he should say something about that, maybe mention that, while it was OK that he'd made the hey hey with Willow and Tara, there was no Buffy here --

Graham kissing him rapaciously and he doesn't know if it's that making his brain short out or the thought of Buffy walking in on... Buffy helping... Buffy making him her bitch but no, wait, big brother, damn, not happening but this was happening.

Long, flat licks to his palm and sharp little bites to his jawline or maybe the other way around and Graham's huge and impossibly male hand in his pants and when had his zipper gone down and Riley mmmed and Xander heard *his* zipper go down and oh Jesus jerking himself off and Graham tugging his shirt up and oh entirely different long, flat licks.

Big Mr. Xander.

Big, happy Mr. Xander being fondled and caressed and drooling for more attention and his fingers were cold and bereft because Riley jumped -- bounce! -- on the bed and reached across Xander for his *other* hand, forcing Graham to move and the only way to move was down and Riley's free hand wasn't free at all.

Stroking and squeezing his own cock, on the slim side and slick with pre-come and this was new, real new, and the angle was bad so Xander twisted a little -- once Graham realized he wasn't trying to run away and allowed him to move -- and there it was and oh, Riley sucking all his fingers.

Fucking his mouth on Xander's fingers, eyes closed and cock so *hard* and right there and Xander grabbed Riley's hand and held him still.

Felt Riley's moan thunder right through him when he tongued at the dripping slit.

And it was like shooting off a starter rifle. Brief awkward shift of limbs and *zing* Goldbergian circuit achieved with Graham locked around his leg and humping like a dog and taking him so deep in hot busy wetness, *hungry* wetness, just like that on his fingers, just like that in his own mouth as Riley thrust in and in and in.

For a moment his nerve endings were almost silent in shock, and it occurred to Xander that it was possible he liked men.

And then it hit, hard, and Xander shuddered, and his body couldn't decide what to do, what stimulus to follow so Xander just laid back and took it, running hot and cold with every touch, every muffled grunt, every suck and lick and bite and Xander squeezed his eyes shut and groaned around Riley's cock and was rewarded with a mouthful of heat and slick and salt and --

*Fuck*

That was Riley's *come* in his mouth another guy had come in his *mouth* and he was swallowing because oh fuck it was the sexiest thing, the *only* thing he could do and Graham grunted and suddenly deep-throated him, fucking himself against Xander's thigh and Riley was panting and shifting and kissing him. Sweet and salt and *woman* on his tongue and Xander devoured the kiss.

Messy and wet so wet *in* so deep, gripped hard then up and Graham *swallowing* him whole and Xander shook his head helplessly, Riley following and following and shot so hard he thought he must've killed Graham but he just kept sucking at him, licking him up and kissing and --

"Xander --"

Splash of heat on his thigh, dribbling between his legs and Riley moved enough that he could see Graham again, stretched tense and shaking, head bent and hair darkened with sweat, forehead resting against his belly.

Riley slipped out the room for a moment, coming back clean, if flushed, and carrying a handful of damp towels. Graham gave Xander a look when he tried to wash himself.

"OK, OK, go ahead, big guy."

And both Riley and Graham smiled approvingly and did just that.

After they'd successfully spread the scent of sex all over his body, Xander sat up and swung his legs over the side of Riley's big bed.

Or rather, tried to do that, and wound up blanketed with well over six feet of affectionate Army guy.

"Uh, Graham?"

Sleepy murmur.

Riley ruffled Xander's hair. "Graham needs cuddle. Bye, guys!"

And then he was out the door.

Cuddle. Xander could do that. Especially since Graham was rather insistently and persistently snuggling against him.

Plus, and he felt no shame in admitting this, it was the least he could for the guy who'd just given him the blow job to end all blow jobs. It occurred to him that now perhaps would be the time to say something witty and clever that nevertheless expressed his appreciation.

"Hey, uh, Graham? Big guy?"

Another sleepy snuggle and a snore.

Okay, no pillow talk. Xander was okay with that.

It took some stealth, but eventually Xander extricated himself from beneath Graham's snoring frame. Okay, maybe not *that* much stealth, because apparently army training resulted in the ability to sleep very deeply no matter what.

It only took a minute and Xander had his clothes mostly on and was out the door. The snickers as he bolted down the stairs were mostly ignorable. The wolf whistles, however, were not, so Xander was a rather interesting shade of red when he got in the car.

Still sticky, *really* smelling of sex now and possibly sexually confused, Xander started the car and pulled into traffic.

Out of town. He was going out of town and wasn't even going to stop for a burger like he'd planned because he really feared that Myron the fry cook would take a sudden liking to him. Because apparently it was Have Sex With Xander Day in Sunnydale and no one had even told him.

Not that he minded, really. It was even possible that the concept had merit. He just really wished he could have planned for this. He would have had a breakfast loaded with more carbs, for starters.

And maybe if he had been a little more prepared, Xander would have been paying attention to the road and not his thoughts, in which Graham and Willow made a Xander sandwich with Tara sauce, he would have had more time to avoid the cat suddenly in the middle of the road. As it was, all he could do was squeak in panic, wrench the wheel hard to right and stand on the brakes. Somewhere in the middle of all of that, he closed his eyes.

A thud, a crump that sounded like the front quarter panel was maybe an eighth panel and the car rocked to a halt.

No screams.

No sirens.

These were both good things, so Xander opened one eye.

And viewed the carnage. Okay, not carnage. He'd killed a garbage can.

Xander turned off the engine and got out to inspect the damage. To the car, there was none. The garbage can, however, could safely be said to be dead.

There was only one thing to do.

Xander pasted his best smile on his face and walked up to the door. Rang the doorbell. Prepared a speech and wondered how much the cost of a new garbage can would cut into his travelling cash. Hoped no one was home so he could stuff some cash in the mailbox and proceed with his plans to get out of town.

His hopes were dashed when the door opened.

It was that guy. Devon. Oz's friend Devon. And oh, look.

There was Oz.

Looking over Devon's shoulder and smiling and fuck. His nostrils were twitching.

Xander's best smile turned tail and slunk away. He waved weakly at Oz, then backed up a surreptitious step and told Devon, "There was, um, a little accident."

Oz inhaled a little deeper and said, "Really? Because that's the one thing I don't smell on you, Xander."

Xander hadn't dared hit the showers at the frat, and lost precious moments wondering whether his chances would have been better there.

Precious moments in which Devon, apparently wanting to know just *what* Oz smelled, leaned in close and breathed deep.

"*Dude*."

And he was being yanked in by his rumpled shirt and the door closed behind him and by the time his sun-blindness was gone Oz was pressing his nose in intimate places and Devon was... rolling a joint.

Back and forth, nearly caressing it, looking straight at Xander with nothing but promise and "yipe! Oz, that ti -- that no longer tickles oh Jesus I'm really really sorry about your garbage can and also your ex ow! No biting --"

Devon leaning in close and close and breathing. Eyes open and lips parted and "you're one fuckable kid, Xand," licking Xander's mouth before moving in for a kiss.

Broken and Devon was lighting up and look down oh. Oz not so much sniffing his crotch as pressing his whole face there. Nuzzling eyes closed and hands holding Xander's hips steady. Mr. Xander was twitching. Mr. Xander cared nothing for his diminishing carb and protein levels. Still, he could certainly resist.

"I'm not really up for any pot smoking, guys."

Devon grinned. "Wasn't for you, baby. I plan on some serious staying power when I fuck you."

Eeeeeep. "Eeeeeep."

From below, "Don't worry," *sniff* "he's really, really, really" *breathe* "good."

Xander's paralysis broke and he backed out of Oz's grip. And kept backing until he hit the door. Xander wasn't really sure about much, but he was almost positive that he should give his potential gayitude time to simmer before having more than one all male threesome.

Devon took a hit. "What's wrong?" Oz gave him the 'yes, that is what I am thinking, as well' look and it was abruptly ridiculous.

"I'm a virgin!"

And that was definitely *not* what he'd intended to yell and Xander scrabbled more vehemently for the doorknob and *oof* --

Oz had apparently pounced from where he'd been crouched, was now body to body with him, and his eyes were... hungry.

And yes, there was definitely something about that. Xander was almost sure he was edging toward a revelation here. Something about need in another person's eyes and the touch.

To his cheek or his side or his hand and the need --

Oz's eyes were much too dark and his hands had found Xander's, slid up Xander's forearms and spread them to the sides and pressed closer.

"Are you sure you don't want any?" Devon was sprawled on the couch, waggling the joint and *watching*.

"No, no, that's fine, *Oz*."

Non-committal grunt and yeah, that hit him, too. Little wave of inevitability driven lust, and another, making the centers of his palms and the tips of his fingers ache with *something*. "Oz, what if you're under a spell?"

Little sound, somewhere between growl and frightening growl and Oz pressed a sudden hard kiss to Xander's jawline. "You smell..." Another growl. "You smell like Anya, and Tara and ohhh, Willow and... Riley? Someone else, too. Doesn't matter. Under it, over it, your scent. Your *sex*." Thrust against him to drive the point home and Xander shifted to feel it and oh --

"Oz, please..."

"It's all over you, Xander..."

Sweet spicy burning in the air and Devon leaning in again, hot, hot mouth against his ear. "Make you feel good..." Oz nuzzling and thrusting in agreement, stubble to stubble only his was... weirdly soft.

"Seducing me..." And the sound of his own voice made him blush. This was somehow more direct and oh if it happened with everyone... if everyone seduced him if he said no --

Devon's hand slipping between his ass and the door and holding, caressing. "You're hot enough anyway, baby..."

Tugging him away from the door, out of his clothes, and hey, maybe he should just leave them there. Walk through town naked and oh god *ready* and waiting to be molested.

Xander the Sex Toy and oh, man, yes. Favorite 8th period study hall fantasy that he came out of having doodled squiggles and curves and great, looping arcs all over his notes for God knew what because in the fantasy he'd been blindfolded.

On and off the couch, and Devon's naked, too. Long and lean and dolphin firm and smooth flesh, touching him, demanding to be touched back, thigh in between is and still enough presence of mind to turn the stereo back up by remote. Something a little old and scratchy, only mellow with age and then the remote went flying and Oz was behind him, soft and hard and scratchy and silky and fingers digging firm at the center of Xander's chest.

Kissing again and Devon's nipples were sort of medium sized and very hard under his fingertips. Twist a little and earned a moan and the hair on Devon's thighs tickling his balls, the underside of his cock. Oz's hand scraping over Xander's own nipple and it would be so easy to surrender to this. Let them make love to him but oh, God, he'd tasted Willow today and tongued Anya to a growling orgasm and he wants that intangible *something*.

Pulls out of the tangle just enough to give Devon his back which is suddenly tingling. trying to flush because oh that was exactly what Devon wanted. Pleased sound and Devon suddenly latched on to the back of Xander's neck with his teeth just as Oz began to worry his lip and Oz's erection left pre-come doodles all over his belly. Oz all ginger-haired and fully himself and small and sweet and *there*.

Rolled further until he was poised over Xander, knowing he could hide the other man with his body, if he wanted and Devon left little sucking bites all over his ribs and his cock was so *heavy* with it. Milder rush but same intent and "Oz, wanna fuck you --"

Cut off by his own surprised and needful cry as Devon traced his crack with cool slickness that made his body clench and jerk and move back towards *more*.

Lost himself in Devon's tease and Oz's knees fanning out and oh, his cock was so... Oz was like this alien/not creature. Young satyr, hard and waiting. Fucked or fucker, no matter, just hunger and "do it, Xander. All of it."

Devon yanking him up, briefly, just out of Oz's gravitational pull and "I'm gonna fuck you so hard... fuck you so far into Oz he *tastes* you..." Mouthed directly into his ear, tongue thrusting for emphasis and oh jesus, *no* --

Finger slick and long and insistent and this was going to be awful, disgusting. Felt his cheeks heat and tried to move away but Devon just held him closer, twisting one-finger fuck inside and it was so... so... looking down on Oz looking up, watching and jerking his own cock.

Don't think, yes, this is... this is what you do, just shift and oh -- feel Devon inside and around, insinuating blanket of creamy flesh and reach down and brush Oz's hands away. Watch him obligingly lace his fingers beside his head.

Thick cock, weirdly uncut and... very weird to the feel, extra skin, heat under velvet under slick and somehow it's two fingers inside him and Devon is breathing in short pants like he forgot that it was his *cock* that was supposed to make him feel that good. That he was fucking Xander already while Xander teased and toyed with Oz. Tried to, movements too jerky because it's like... like a burn inside him now.

Steady and insistent. His body *wanted* to burn and he knew what would come next, lots of porno said, there was -- "*Fuck*!"

*Nothing* like what he imagined, this, like his whole body was wired to this little nut inside him and Devon was ruthless. Working it... God working it like a *clit* and Xander was just... *moving* with it. Moaning and weakening and somebody grabbed his hand and slicked it up and yeah... yeah --

Spread Oz's legs wider and tight little pucker right there, right there and he moved so fast he slipped, slicking the length of Oz's cleft, making the tight little muscle jump and Xander's eyes want to slip closed and his body just *wants* and Oz is twisting, trying to guide him and Jesus... Oz wanted, too.

Oz wanted and Xander... he could give.

Slip inside and it was *hot* there, shockingly smooth and hot and powerful and oh what Devon was feeling... Devon was feeling that inside him and no wonder he had to fuck like that. No wonder Devon was just working and working him like he didn't *have* a dick to fuck him with, like his hand got there first and didn't want to leave and his own hand agreed.

Knuckles pressed against soft/hard muscle, downy hair down there and such fine white skin and his mouth... oh, his mouth knows what it wants.

"Dev... oh, Dev wait --"

"Too fast, baby?"

"No..." Twist again "*fuck*, no, you're good --"

"I know."

"Smug... bastard... want to get to Oz. Taste him. Fuck him."

Wordless groan from behind and below him and Devon just worked him faster for a moment. Harder. And it was scary and proud-making that it was getting to be *not enough*. He wanted more. Right up there, yeah and Devon pulling out leaves him dazed and weirdly pissed.

Shook it off and Oz was shaking a little. Hard as hell and staring Xander down for one long, promising beat before turning onto his hands and knees, stretching some and spreading his legs wide.

Lean everything on him, compact and perfectly filled. Oz should fill no more or less space than he already does.

And it took a moment to settle mostly comfortable, but finally Xander braced himself on his knees and one hand, using his other to grab hold of Oz's thinly-covered hip and pull him close. And Devon... oh Devon spreading Oz's cheeks for him, showing him right where to go, where it was already a little slick and the muscle was trembling on the edge of flexing and Xander dove in.

Nose bumping skin breath and a shiver and *taste*, sweet slick of the lube just adding, twisting around the dark, oily taste of him. Different from Anya in some strange fundamental way but it gets the same reaction. Oz moaned, growled, pushed back.

Gasping noises and grunts, half formed words and Xander's dick is getting harder and harder, leaking and needing and Xander couldn't wait, couldn't tease anymore than a few brief circles and circles around the hole. Slipped in and felt himself held. Started to thrust and the picture in his head was just...

Oz on his hands and knees, loud and shameless.

Devon spreading Oz's cheeks, hard and oh, he had to be watching and Xander in and in and in and no shame, yes. None. Not in this, not in this deep, raw communion of tongue to need.

Licking Oz's need. Tasting and fucking it and owning it --

"He's gonna lose it if you don't stop soon, baby... damn I can't decide if I want your ass or your mouth. Where have you *been* all my life?"

Devon giggling and pulling Xander back and his mouth felt... well used and Oz was panting, sweaty. Freckles disappearing under his flush and the pre-come Xander shot felt as precious as blood.

Devon's fingers back now, circling and teasing and Xander can't help but thrust back a little but Oz--

Still on his hands and knees, head hanging down, little tremors running down his thighs and Xander can see a drop of pre-come from Oz's cock hit the carpeting, feels Devon's hot breath against his cheek, his slick fingers probing, his hard cock pressing.

Xander reaches for Oz, grabs his hips and holds them, his fingers in the light fur of Oz's belly, his thumbs stroking the soft curve of Oz's ass.

"What do you want, Xander? Hmmm?"

And what he *wants*, right at that second, is to lay his head on Oz's back, to rub his cheek against the base of Oz's spine and lick at the sweat there. But he also wants Devon's fingers right where they are, wants what Devon had promised him and he hears his voice, shaky and breathless, say, "You told me--you said you would--" and the words end in a groan when Devon mouths at his ear again, moist lips and wet tongue and hot breath.

"What, baby?"

"Fuck me. You said, oh you said you'd fuck me into Oz."

Groans in stereo, behind him, below him and Xander can feel Oz shudder when Devon does, like they share the same nerve endings or something.

"OK, Xander. Slip it in... just the head."

And it seemed impossible for a moment, knowing exactly how amazing it would feel to be inside Oz and having no idea how he was supposed to hold back *now* and Devon ran the head of his own cock up and down Xander's cleft in teasing promise and Xander obeyed.

Settled himself, one hand on Oz's slim hip, the other smoothing over the slick skin of his ass for a moment before spreading him again and Devon did it for him. Took Xander's cock in hand with a little fillip just at the tip and set it just at Oz's hole.

"Do it now..."

Less a command than a pleased purr and Xander pushed, forcing himself to go slow and oh. Inside with just the head and it was like Oz's whole body was begging for more, shuddering, arching and pushing. Forcing Xander to push back against Devon to avoid breaking the rules, which just made Devon hold him tight around the chest.

Thrust in a few more times with his fingers before settling his cock right at *Xander's* hole. And Xander had just a moment to realize that he would be feeling exactly what Oz felt, that he was about to lose his virginity again and --

"Ahh..."

Devon pushing in, too fast too slow too hard for this but it felt easy, too. Like Xander was just wide open and ready for this. Flash on Anya, open-thighed and needing, almost silent in an extremity and *in*.

No warning, no meaningful pause, just all the way in, pure iron low in Xander's gut and he thrust and Oz cried out and pushed back and Devon pulled out and thrust in and Xander stopped thinking, needing the rhythm of this, the impossible efficiency of pleasure, fucked and fucking, laid out and stretched in *this*.

Weird completion, circuit, need, have and take and Devon's teeth in his shoulder and muscles working in Oz's back and the sounds he was making.

And the sounds they all were making. If not shameless than certainly helpless.

The crumbling breakdown of control as Oz reared up, nearly making them all fall and Devon grabbing Xander *hard* and thrusting in fast and deep and brutal. Making Xander yell until something like a gurgle as Oz began to fuck himself in earnest.

Look down and Oz is just *working* himself, cock jerking, spitting pre-come, and Xander tries to find the rhythm again, tries not to lose himself and fails. Gives in to the animal chaos of it all and *yes*... Devon *fucking* him into Oz and grunting and cursing and it goes on forever and it only lasts a heartbeat.

Comes thrusting, holding Oz down and still enough so he can fuck harder, get it all in, come slicking his way even more, maddening loss of friction and when Oz comes he bears down so hard Xander yells and Devon comes last, biting a scream into Oz's shoulder and filling him with hot and wet and slick and a little scary and they collapse into a messy tangle.

Breathe. Xander's eyes wide and he's licking his lips. Wondering if he should even try to hold back the gush of gibbering pseudo syllables that the occasion seems to call for.

And Oz says, "wow."

Sums things up pretty well, but Xander still needs to respond with a "phnuhm," which earns him an Ozly nod.

"Damn, Xander," Devon pants, "I'm just thinking about the way you came like that and *fuck*."

Devon twitches inside him and Xander has a few moments of stark terror. A next time would kill him dead die bug die. Oz took one look at him and smiled, gently.

"Nah, Devon. No more."

"Pussing out, Oz?"

Oz chuckled and shifted, and Xander's cock slipped out with wet sounds that made his ears go red. "Xander has to go, man, trust me."

"Yep, that's it, I gotta leave. Places to go --"

"People to fuck. Dude, Xander. You're on, like, a mission, aren't you?"

"Maybe?"

"No, you are, you are. Oz, we have to feed him. Keep his strength up."

Oz nodded. "You got the Ramen?"

"Ready to microwave. He needs protein, too, though..."

"I don't think he'd get enough by sucking your cock."

"Damn."

"Food?" Xander's stomach gurgled and rumbled.

Oz patted him on the shoulder. "Just lay back and rest, Xand. We'll take care of you."

"O... um. OK?"

"Yeah, stay dude." Devon smiled wickedly. "I wanna see if your mouth is sexy when you eat, too."

Shell shocked. That's the only way Xander can think of to describe his current state of mind. He's eating Ramen with Oz and Devon and listening to them calmly discuss the pros and cons of beef versus chicken flavor.

Just three guys loading up on carbs after fucking each other.

Xander is mildly amazed he can even think that sentence and not gibber. Yet somewhere in the back of his mind he's still mostly of the opinion that God really likes him, but now tempers that with the suspicion that God also has a fucked up sense of humor.

He realizes that he's not getting out of Sunnydale. He's spent almost an entire day trying and failing. And while Xander feels he may not exactly be at the top of his game thinking-wise, he has to mentally acknowledge that yes, something odd is at work here.

And he should tell someone. Or do something.

Definitely should do something, because the conversation has dried up and Devon is looking at him in a decidedly speculative manner.

"Hey, uh, guys, I should-"

"Be naked," Devon interrupts.

"Leave him alone, Dev." Oz gives Xander's flushed cheeks a sympathetic smile and continues, "He's generally not big on the savoring the afterglow part. Not until the second or third afterglow, anyway." The corners of his eyes wrinkle as his smile deepens when Xander shifts uncomfortably. "But I think you're ahead of us today."

Miles ahead, Xander thinks. "In some aspects, yes," he says. "I should go." Go and find someone who can explain why Xander, who has spent most of his life as an asexual icon, is now the sexual equivalent of a bomb pop on a really hot summer day.

They let him go. Let being the operative word, because after the goodbye kissing and fondling Xander is more than half convinced that going might not be what he really wants to do after all.

Giles, he reminds himself. He's going to see Giles and get some answers.

He's a good three blocks away when he remembers the car. After pausing for a moment, he shakes his head and continues on foot, which will be just as fast. After a mostly car-less lifetime, Xander knows all the shortcuts.

Gets to Giles' and suddenly realizes that there were no guarantees that It -- whatever It was -- wouldn't work on the G-man. He was still trying to figure out how he would react to that when the door suddenly opened without him even getting a chance to knock.

Spike.

Sniffing.

Grinning maliciously.

"Well, well, well. I always knew you'd take up whoring *one* day."

Xander rolled his eyes. He wasn't sure if he had any blushes left. "Yeah, yeah, good to see you're still filling your empty life with pointless snarkiness. Is Giles in?"

Spike lounged in the doorway, effect spoiled somewhat by the towel he was holding over himself to block out the last of the evening sunlight. "As a matter of fact, he's off picking up hoo-doo supplies. I'm just here to raid the fridge and watch the Simpsons."

"Right, fine, whatever. God, you've gotten dull. Would you please let me in?"

"I may be dull, but you're still... Xander."

"Oooh, 50 points to the observant eunuch. Move *over*."

Spike did, but only *just* enough for Xander to pass. Xander managed to brush a vast quantity of Spike walking in. "Asshole."

"Aren't you a little sore for that, pet?"

Oh, wait, there was a blush.

"You know, Spike, if you got yourself a life you wouldn't be so

obsessed with everyone else's."

"True, but I get such... pleasure out of mucking with you lot. You squirm so prettily..."

There was something very different about Spike's voice. Xander chose to ignore it, flopped on the couch, and deliberately turned the TV off.

"You're absolutely right, Xander. TV's all right, but I think I can come up with some other ways to entertain myself."

"Oh, *fuck*, Spike, not you, too?"

Spike moves between Xander and the TV. Crouches and inhales and smiles. "Well, if you're going to be the village bicycle, you shouldn't be surprised when a bloke wants a ride."

"Yeah, well, this bike is going into the shop, fangless wonder. Back off."

Spike lunges, pausing just before his head would've made contact with Xander's crotch. And sniffs. Presses his nose right to the fabric and pulls an Oz and hey, wait, this isn't supposed to work on him again.

Crotch-sniffing immunity or something like that and Xander scrambles up and over the back of the couch, landing with a thud before jumping to his feet again.

Spike is still on his knees in front of the couch, looking... distinctly happy.

"I swear to God, Spike, I will kick your *ass* if you come any closer."

Spike stands immediately. And takes off his belt.

And tosses it to Xander.

"Jesus!"

"Now, now, mate, take it easy. I don't go in for that cross-branding thing. I'm not some kind of freak." He started moving around the couch and Xander did his best to both back away and stop staring at the worn, black leather belt with his mouth open.

He half-succeeds, snapping his teeth shut with a click just as Spike stops in front of him.

And starts stripping.

T-shirt gone with one long pull. Boots kicked off and Spike has his thumbs between his skin and the waistband of his jeans before Xander can think of anything to do.

Which is to bolt for the door, only to find Spike there before him, pressed up against the door, deep rust nipples hard and the world's most misplaced innocently cheerful grin.

"You know, Xander, technically *I'm* supposed to be the one trying to escape, but I'll make an exception for you."

Xander ran for the back exit, but Spike got hold of his t-shirt and yanked him back against him. Held him with a rock-hard yet carefully gentle grip.

"Loop the belt around your hand a couple of times, love. That way you won't lose it, even if you lose control."

"I always knew Dru wore the pants."

"Only if I was very, very good... her sweet quim all outlined by the slacks. She thought them far too naughty..."

And, OK, Spike showing his age with the language, there, but there was something about that word, and the thought of swollen pussy lips and heavy juices staining the fabric and the restorative powers of Ramen were apparently more powerful than anyone knew.

Spike hard against him. Pressing close, breathing deep.

"Or maybe you like it the other way?" Purred in his ear, punctuated with a slow, deliberate grind against his ass.

"Heh. Let me take a moment to consider the least embarrassing way to answer that question."

"Anything you say, pet..." Tongue in his ear now, hold fractionally tighter and other hand moving down to play with Xander's dick through his rumpled pants.

"Ohh... oh that's not helping thought happen, Spike."

Little growl and a squeeze. "Think with your body --" Cutting himself off with a sucking kiss to Xander's cheek, the back of his neck, his throat. Pushing his face against the throbbing vein and mouthing it relentlessly and Xander has to.

Has to do something, break away, move away from the windows, something, Giles could come back at any moment and see... *this*. Struggles against the grip and an awkward shift slips Spike's cock in the covered cleft of his ass --

"Fuck, *yeah*, mate. *Gimme*."

Spike changing his hold much too rapidly for Xander to escape, his story, he was sticking to it, and Spike has him by the hips, lining him up to get dry-humped right then and there, and... and.

How fucking *dare* he do this?

Xander struggles in earnest, forcing Spike to tighten his hold enough to cause pain that, in turn, makes him let go.

Xander stumbles a few steps before regaining his balance. Adjusts his semi and Spike licks his lips. Steps forward.

"Take your pants off, Spike."

Raised eyebrow and he does it with a smirk that changes beautifully when Xander takes his advice about the belt. "Yeh?"

Xander nods, heart thumping in his chest and several parts of his brain lost to gibbers and screams. "You can... uh... you can hold on to the back of the couch."

"Fucking *yeah*." And Spike, naked, is something to see, absolute marble and underfed muscle and a swagger. Uncut cock arching up toward his flat belly. He pauses before Xander, runs a finger over Xander's belted hand. "This changes nothing."

"Bend over."

Head bowed. Xander's eyes almost coerced into following the lines and ropes of muscle that make up the long unmarked column of Spike's back, his hard, lean ass. So white it almost kind of glows, blue in the hollows kind of white. Unearthly. Un... dead.

And shouldn't that be a turn *off*?

But apparently L'il Mr. Xander is not only hyperactive he's also a kinky little freak. The kind of penis the other penis's mothers warn them to stay way from, only Xander's stuck with him now. Him and his brand new necrophilia. Up and trying to nudge his way out of Xander's cotton twills for a peek. Rough nudge of cotton is enough to make him shift a little, bring the belt to his face.

The leather smells strong and bitter. Feels soft against his cheek. Xander rubs it against his lips, cheekbone, hard enough to burn a little. Until he can smell it even when it moves away. When he raises his arm, tries to find a starting point.

Somewhere between a fastball and... maybe a punch. Awkward as hell, the belt too light, too heavy. Not sure why he's doing this and that pisses him off -- that Spike got him here like this. Or well, not like Spike's holding a gun to his head but... He's red in the face. Horny *again*. And it's not like he can deny that he really would like to whip Spike's ass.

It's just that it really *really* bothers him to know that Spike's actually going to enjoy it and...

"Planning on starting sometime this century, ducks?"

And his hand just *lashes* down. Sharp and hard. Crack of leather on skin. Gasp and *arch*.

And now there is a narrow, perfect diagonal of red on the white flesh -- from Spike's right hip, across one cheek, broken at the crack but picking up again across the other.

"Holy *shit*..." he whispers. Bites back the apology that wants to follow. Because this is Spike, who actually once hit him in the head with a marble bowling trophy and hadn't managed to say he was sorry yet. But still he has to come in for a closer look.

No, he hasn't broken the skin. Just blood vessels underneath it and it's a really pretty color, all these different reds and some purple and blue just underneath and when he lays his finger on the stripe it feels warm and when he runs his thumb over it, Spike hisses a little, pushes against his hand.

"Come on Xander," Spike sounds rough. Maybe even a little needy. "Do me right, eh? Ye'll feel so good."

"Shut. Up." Xander says. Spike's voice is like this wire and he's going that way anyway and he doesn't need any *help*. And he can't help, really he can't -- holding Spike's hip, holding him right where he is, thumb hard on the raising welt and rubbing Mr. Far Too Happy About This into the crack of Spike's ass.

Just long enough to make sure he's good and hard, to get a whiff of vampire scent -- pale and clean somehow -- sweat and musky sex and iron. To get the sweet feeling going and he pushes off, steps back.

"Spike," he says and just as the vampire's head comes up he brings the belt down. Crack!

A better arch this time and some noise in the gasp and *that* feels good and now there's another welt, just crossing the first. And Xander... just can't get comfortable with it. Which is good, right? He asks himself hopefully. Is maybe a sign that the sex hoo-doo is wearing off and he can maybe go on to live some kind of a normal life. Maybe take a *shower*.

And it could be a sign except for the annoying fact that he's still hard, still *itching* for something. Things, maybe. Things he can't even put a name to. Like the 'taken and captured' fantasy and the Xander-lesbian sandwich fantasy. And the Xander Graham Riley fantasy that he was pretty sure he'd never had, not to mention the Spike-whipping fantasy when apparently is one of the few things he doesn't...

"I'm going to take it away from you if you don't start using it." And um, *sproing*.

"Don't even think about talking to a travel agent about going *there*."

But Spike is turning around and leaning back against the couch -- pink headed cock bobbing out of a narrow, ringletty, not-too-surprisingly black V of curls; head peeking out of its little turtleneck of flesh, shiny-slick at the tip. Xander has to make himself swallow, make his eyes move back to Spike's face.

"*I'm* easy, luv," Spike says, grinning.

Xander manages: "Nuh-uh" before Spike is right up against him -- hard, naked and cool -- hands around his head, pulling him into a kiss that has both soft lips and hard teeth in it. Lots and lots of licking. And yes, he is aware that somewhere in there he started to moan and the moan just manages to keep slipping out whenever Spike pulls back enough to let it.

"That's right, love," Spike slurs against his skin, hands moving down to Xander's shirt, grip, tension and *pop, pop, pop...* buttons flying and the t-shirt underneath scoring a line of heat into his neck as the neckline gives and he's ready to say "Hey..." right there, but Spike just ducks his head and takes a nipple, gives it some mind-whammying one-two vampire suck that tugs right down to his balls and while his hips are still writhing from that is back to his mouth again.

Sort of. Mouth, chin, jaw. Neck. Tiny nibble-sucks that are too sweet and achy to really be pain and just seem to make him weaker and weaker. So that now he is leaning into Spike and on Spike and Spike's hands are still traveling him.

Torn shirts peeled down his back and loosely trapping his arms. Spike's teeth somehow soft against his shoulder, scraping skin and then, head ducking fast like a hummingbird to poke a slick tongue into his armpit.

That feels weird and ticklish and almost-icky-good enough to make Xander jerk but not enough to do anything but make him aware of Spike's grip on him. Makes Spike aware too, obviously from the way he turns his focus there. Licks, sucks. Tonguefucks the sensitive little slit until Xander is actively struggling to get his arms free. Or maybe just hump Spike's leg a little more actively.

"Mmm," says Spike, looking up at Xander all bruised, red-lipped innocence. "Salty." And bites Xander on the nipple again. And hooks his fingers through the empty beltloops of Xander's pants and yanks.

The pants slide off with little resistance. They were baggy when he put them on this morning -- he's probably lost ten pounds since then. The only snag is Mr. Happy's head and Mr. Happy doesn't seem to mind the tussle. It just makes him drool. Xander can empathize. Vampires sure move fast when they want to. Spike is already on his knees.

Hands on Xander's hips now, holding him stiller than he wants to be, or than his hips want to be anyway and it's a little embarrassing that he can't actually stop himself from push-pushing his dick at Spike's mouth. But it's right *there*. Soft looking, lips slick and shiny and red.

Slightly parted. He's actually panting now. Anticipating the slipperiness of it. The suction. And Spike's doing nothing but looking at it like he's practicing trying to bend forks with his psychic mindrays.

Mr. Cooperate With The Enemy attempts to comply, stiffening.

Pointing. Drooling.

Spike sticks his tongue out, catches a strand of pre-come and follows it up to lick the flared head of Xander's cock. Then he closes his lips over the head and sucks.

For a second it's all concentrated there and too much to bear as Xander feels his bones bend, muscles twist as his whole body tries to compress itself down into the place where all that whitehot pleasure is happening. Just for a second and then the pressure breaks, the goodness spreads through him. He finishes the yell he didn't notice he'd begun.

His dick slides abruptly free of Spike's mouth and Xander opens his eyes to find Spike licking his lips and frowning.

"What...?"

"You taste... familiar," Spike says.

"Swell," says Xander. "Is that," he struggles to find words... "...relevant?" He's regretting this already. Especially the part where is dick is not being sucked anymore.

"Yeh," Spike says, frowning more deeply. "Not somebody recent, but, still... memorable. Almost."

"Spike..."

"It's going to bug me now."

"I'm not giving you a list," Xander growls.

He's struggling to get free again, because he's decided he needs his hands to grab Spike's head. Spike doesn't seem to notice.

"Makes it hard to concentrate, doesn't it?" He says, going back in for another quick taste that makes Xander's knees buckle. "I mean it's right on the tip of me tongue..."

A moment. A pause. A little grudging appreciation which he refuses to express in anyway except to grind his hips a little helplessly. And that's not even really voluntary at this point so he allows it not to count.

"You're fucking with me now."

"No, really?"

"You're trying to get me all sexually frustrated and mad at you so I'll indulge your little Vampire Gets Pussy-Whipped By Mortal fantasy."

"Working?"

Xander considers. He has noticed, for instance that he hasn't let go of the belt. Imagines, just for consideration's sake that he has Spike bent over the sofa again and is thwapping him steadily, making his ass jump and his voice make that needy, broken hitch. And that's not an unpleasant heat sizzling a little at the base of his cock.

"Possibly," he allows. "Try a little less 'frustration' and just a little more 'sexual'."

"Say the magic words..." Xander closes his eyes. Thinks about what he wants. What he really really wants.

"Suck my cock, Spike," he growls.

Spike tilts his head.

Looks at Xander's cock.

Licks his lips and smiles evilly. "No."

Sit back and smirks. *Smirks*

And Xander's hand is in Spike's hair, pulling his head back and Spike's eyes never lose that insolent 'you haven't got the balls' look.

"No?" Low, whispery growl that he doesn't quite recognize as his voice. It occurs to Xander that he shouldn't be *this* desperate, this... whatever he is. But then--

"No. Not unless you make me." Spike pulls against Xander's hand, makes a little purring sound when his fingers tighten and flicks his tongue over his lips again. But is still smirking.

"You do want to make me. Don't you, Xander?"

Yes. The answer is a sincere yes, since Xander drags Spike back to the couch, throws him back into his former position. And the belt, the belt feels good in his hands now. Just heavy enough and comfortable now that his sweat has made it warm. Pliable.

No hesitation now. Kicks his pants free, shrugs out of the torn shirt. His arm swings back, then forward with a little snap. He sees Spike react a split second before he hears the crack of the belt, arching up into it.

And Xander plants a foot a little behind him and leans into the next one, and the one after that, the belt rising and falling. Heavy stripes of color on Spike's ass now, pinkish red, crisscrossing each other. And with each blow, another arch, another cry and Xander is willing to bet there's no smirk on Spike's face now, nothing but need.

Panting, he lets the belt hang, steps forward and grabs a handful of blonde hair again, pulls Spike's head back and sees... Yes. Lips swollen. Cheeks flushed. Eyes glittering and when Xander lets the belt trail over a welt, a whimper.

So he does it again, gets something a little like a mewl and has to lean forward, whisper, "Suck. My. Cock."

Another sound, raw, and Spike drops to his knees, Xander's hand still tightly clenched in his hair.

No teasing, not even a lick and *fuck*. Spike's lips stretched around his cock, his eyes half closed and a steady moan from deep in his throat reverberating around him. Taking him in deeper, his mouth cool, his tongue rubbing on the underside and Xander needs more.

His hips rock forward as he pulls Spike's head toward him, roughly thrusts in all the way. And Spike's eyes close as he strains forward, his throat working, swallowing and it just feels so oh. So fucking hot. Panting and staring down while he fucks Spike's mouth, his cock sliding in and out, rough and careless because this is for him, all his.

And he sees Spike's hands, pinching his own nipple, pulling at his cock and before Xander can even process this sight, his hand holding the forgotten belt lashes out and catches Spike square across the back and he's panting, "Hands off."

Pulls and waits, holding Spike's head still. Lets the belt lick over him again. When Spike shudders and his hands drop to his sides, Xander pushes back in, hard.

Feels a tooth nick him and Spike's eyes open wide just as his face morphs.

Vampire, he's fucking the mouth of a vampire, his mind gibbers. His fingers around the belt are nerveless and he instinctively pulls back, but now Spike's hands are at his hips, holding him still.

Deep throating him, his eyes squeezed closed and he's moaning and swallowing around Xander's cock, his lips shiny with pre-come and spit and silken strings of red and oh god *feeding*, Spike is feeding on him and it hits him like a knee-buckling wave of adrenalin. Spike is feeding on him, so intent and groaning, swallowing around him and god it it it *aches*.

So deep. So deep he's going to fall, let go but Spike's hands have him clamped and vised, moving around to cup his ass, pull him in deeper. Another swallow that squeezes him from base to tip like the last bit of toothpaste and and oh and ohhh -- he's ohh fingers part his cheeks, sweat slick and spread him and --- ohh --

Inside. Finger, fingers, finger -- too much and ohh and ohh -- another swallow works him and he's trying to scream and beat at Spike's ridged face ravening at his groin and he's swallowed, swallowed, worked and done for, speared rocked back onto fingers stretching too wide too hard not enough for anything but pleasure, hot and driving -- and Spike stills suddenly and *growls*--

Animal sound so not human monster teeth flashing heat inside him cock and ass and Xander is helplessly coming coming beating himself between iron hands and marble face, coming that won't stop while the swallowing goes on and on and suddenly his knees are wet and something cool is spilling across the tops of his feet and Spike growls around him again, but rougher... slower and Xander wonders if anyone else has ever died like this as he comes again and everything fades to silence and gentle gray...

When the curtain rises again, Xander is surprised to find that the afterlife is a lot like being draped with sticky Vampire on an ex- Librarian's utterly ruined Indian rug.

And that there is licking involved.

And the thought, the wonder of what that is, those two tiny aches that throb as Spike gasps and realizing: Spike is still nursing at him. Jesus.

Gets up on his elbows to confirm the truth, Spike lapping fitfully, painfully at a tiny and infinitely horrifying wound on his cock.

"I don't think you're gonna get anything else outta there, fangboy." His own voice is hoarse and deeply, deeply used.

"Hope springs eternal in the bloody undead breast. Shut up and let me work."

"So desperate for human blood..."

Spike sort of... flashes at him, blue eyes hard and glittering, but he doesn't say a word, just starts licking the other dry wound. And... that's it, isn't it?

"You really are, aren't you, Spike? Desperate. You came all over me without a touch..."

"Don't let it go to your head. It would've happened with any human blood."

Xander ignores him and lets his head fall back, stretching muscles he'd apparently used hard. "Told you I was a nummy treat."

Spike just glitters at him again, holds Xander's gaze as he sucks much too hard at Xander's oversensitized head. "You shouldn't be so eager to adver --"

"Xander, why are you naked on my floor being licked by Spike?"

"Uh... uh... sniff me!"

Spike looks up indignantly. "Hang on, I'm not done yet!"

Xander scrabbles away, hideously aware of the way his genitals bounce and flop around. Naked *and* flopsy in front of a potentially unaffected Giles equals *bad*.

And Spike is crawling toward him, equally naked and apparently now using his special mindrays to try to make Xander's cock bleed a little more and Xander scrabbles and shuffles right into Giles.

Who is now crouching above Xander, who suddenly has an ectremely good view of the way his pants outline his own flopsy dangles.

"Er..."

"Spike, you do realize that the human refractory time is rather more than the vampire one?"

"He's *young*, Rupert!"

"Hmmm. Yes, that is true. Still, he's mine now, so off you go."

Xander has discovered an entirely new sort of terror today, the kind that makes him want to smile, cry, and also run away very fast and also be caught. "Yours?"

But they're ignoring him.

"Aw, now that's just unfair! You can't just barge in on a man's fuck and -- Fuck! OK, OK, put the crossbow down. Bloody hell."

Xander's eyes widened just the tiniest bit more, and he laid very, very still through the sounds of Spike dressing and muttering curses. When Giles reaches down to adjust himself Xander is abruptly hit with a wave of horny librarian scent.

Which is entirely not a bad scent.

In fact, it's a pretty good scent, all things considered. The kind of scent a guy could really spend some time considering. Which is good, since Xander is pretty much stuck with his head right *there* and he thought older guy knees didn't work as well as this but Giles isn't the average older guy and when the door closes Xander is just sort of....

Breathing in time to his jittering mind, which has given up, at last, on the job of inserting reason into this day. Because, hey, if Giles says he's his, then clearly it's OK to be naked on his rug, sniffing his crotch.

And yes, Xander *does* now understand every dog he's ever met.

"Xander."

"Hmm?"

"You really do need a bath."

"Not sex?"

"Oh, definitely sex. Quite a bit of sex, I would think. But also a bath."

"I can do that. Well, maybe not the 'quite a bit,' thing, it's been, um... a busy day."

"Had the whole town, did you?"

And Giles stands, helps Xander to his feet. Giles has green eyes that are looking at him in a very un-Giles way that seems to go along just fine with the new rules of Xander's existence. "Not the *whole* town..."

A chuckle and then Giles is running two fingers over Xander's face, pausing at his mouth before slipping under his chin. And then kisses him, slow and... really kind of sweet. Which *doesn't* quite fit but is nice enough to fall into.

He can do sweet, given an opportunity, and this definitely counts.

Moving closer to Giles, clothes chafing against his skin and Giles has an arm around his waist and Giles is still kissing him so *gently*, soft-mouthed and thorough. Xander breaks the kiss himself, placing one hand on Giles' chest and just feeling the heat there, shifting so that one of Giles' thighs is between his own.

"So..."

"Yes, Xander? Breathed into his mouth.

So damn sexy and the next kiss is a little hotter, a little rougher. Giles' hand moving down to cup his ass and it makes Xander shudder, shift to a better position that seats Giles' heat against his own, and he's feeling the tiny cuts on his cock and he wonders if Spike still does and it sends shivers down his spine when Giles' jams his other hand into Xander's hair.

Petting and tugging and finally just cupping Xander's skull to hold him in place. Kisses getting wetter, longer. Messier and Giles is so *hard* against him, really wants him.

No raised eyebrow, no cutting mockery. Holding him and kissing him like he's the most desirable person in the universe and it makes Xander *hurt* inside and he pushes away, shaking his head.

But he doesn't shake off Giles' touch when he reaches for him.

"What's wrong?"

"You're under a spell, Giles. Everybody is. You... you don't really want to do this. I swear, I only came here because I thought you'd know..." Trailing off weakly because wasn't it just fucking perfect for him to have surrendered to *everything* today. To just...

"You think you're using me, Xander?"

"I... yes."

One callused finger down the center of his chest. "I could be using you..."

And that. Would it be better or worse? "Giles, I'm serious, you said it yourself." The palm now, pressing and sweeping over his skin. "The whole town, when none of them ever looked at me twice, not like that, except maybe Willow and she's gay now and oh.

"Ohh... but I don't want you to stop touching me."

Giles' smile is gentle, but still predatory, and he's there, so close, kissing Xander again, holding him again and Xander can't do anything but respond and Giles tastes so good. Sweet, spicy tea-like thing and man-who-wants-him, which is just one of many taste sensations Xander has learned to identify today and no amount of mental babble changes anything.

There's still a spell, and he resisted it his junior year so he ought to be able to do it now but *Giles*.

Doesn't want to be resisted.

Hand at the back of his neck and his whole body is pressed against Giles' now and all he wants to do is move, let Giles make him writhe, and moan into his mouth and do anything at all.

But what he does is push away again, forcing himself to struggle against Giles' hold until he was free again and feeling... the room was suddenly much too cold but Giles was coming for him again.

Flash of Giles as the Terminator makes him giggle helplessly which is probably his body's dirty trick to hold him still for Giles, but all he does is caress his face. Force him to make eye contact.

"I promise we'll work on the spell, Xander... you're trying so hard. But I also promise I'll forgive you for this tomorrow... if I have to."

Which is enough, just *enough* and Xander turns his head and kisses Giles' palm and then they're together again, moving now like he wants to and --

"That's it, Xander..."

Giles at his throat now, sucking shamelessly hard.

Leaving marks and that makes Xander thrust up against once, twice, again and again as Giles moves to another spot to work on.

A little slice of forever there in Giles' living room, until Xander is dazed from kissing and a little raw from moving against Giles' body. Licking his lips and trying to keep his eyelids from drooping and

"You're very beautiful, Xander."

Which makes him... he's not sure what his reaction is, but he knows it just feels *good*.

"Let's go get you a bath."

And it turned out that 'bath' had, in fact, referred to an actual bath. In a tub filled with steaming hot water that made him hiss when he settled in. Two little stings, only making him harder, as the bit of Holy Water in with the rest worked on his fang-marks.

There were even bubbles, that smelled like a fraction of Giles' scent, magnified. And Giles himself, naked and straddling the side of the tub, currently scrub-massaging Xander's back.

Holy water and bubble bath. *Only* Giles.

Xander arches back to stretch, smiles at how fogged Giles' glasses are. He takes them off as he watches, returns Xander's smile with a sort of open self-deprecation.

Which makes his heart do a funny skip, a dangerous skip and it hurts again, to have only a night, maybe, but he's going to take it. Reaches up to plant a palmful of bubbles directly on his greying chest hair, to touch the hot skin, feel the heart beating beneath.

Lower, touching the half-hard cock and feeling it grow in his hand. Regretting the soap bubbles because he wanted to suck now, lick and kiss and rub his face all over and make it so good that it doesn't have to be a spell.

He twists a little awkwardly, sloshing water, blushing, whispering apologies against the head of Giles' cock because... yes.

Just yes.

Kissing now and Giles' hand back in his hair and he loves it there, knows he's never going to forget the feeling of Giles pulling him *close*. Wanting him there, close enough to touch, and oh when they'd started abandoning Giles.

When he'd been alone, and unappreciated, and his home was suddenly just an empty place Xander had warmed inside, and hoped, in the emptiness, Giles would reach out.

And maybe he'd wanted it to be just like this.

Somewhere in his dreams.

Tonguing at the slit until the soap is gone and there's only musk and Giles and

"Xander..."

his voice seemed broken, so hoarse. Jagged shard of lust straight to his cock and Xander took the head in his mouth entirely and sucked, wanting more.

"Oh, Xander I never smelled you... not until after... do you understand?"

Off with a wet pop, licking and breaking the strands of spit and pre-come and trying. Holding Giles' thigh, kissing at his thighs because it's better than thinking. Because it's terrifying what Giles has said and much too good and big, filling him and filling him and he still needs *more*.

"Look at me."

Moaning into Giles' skin, feeling him shiver. Looks up and yes, Giles' eyes are green and utterly open for him. And the water isn't nearly as warm as he knows he'll be just as soon as Giles is holding him again.

Nearly falling on his ass coming out of the tub and laughing with Giles is wonderful and so is rinsing off in the shower and so is kissing more and more and stumbling, connected, up to the bedroom. Still wet, leaving Xander and Giles-shaped wet spots on the sheets and Giles kisses every smile and returns it with one of his own.

Tangled together and rocking and it's getting hot much too fast between them. Hot and slick and hard and Xander can't help fucking Giles' mouth with his tongue, asking, suggesting and Giles just sucks in response.

Hands all over, and Giles has so many scars. Roughest Watcher ever and Xander wants to know Ripper, too, and thought:

Later.

And the thought made him grin so wide the kissing managed to stop and Giles just stared at him, something like wonder in his eyes. Locked together now, helpless muscular force at the brush of their cocks together and Xander wants to stop this and suck him for real, do what Spike did, maybe, without the teeth but Giles won't let go and Xander can't.

So he just moves, thrusts and writhes and tries to get the best possible angle, and one arm is trapped beneath him and his Giles has his other hand. Fingers twined together, held at hip level. Face to face and when Giles squeezes his eyes shut and groans Xander catches it in his own mouth.

Catches it and lengthens it, stretched over his tongue and teeth until they break for air again, panting against each other's mouths and working themselves together.

And it's so... *equal*, sweet and strong and they're right together in this, eye-to-eye, Xander taking advantage of every second of control his long day afforded him to hold on and just *feel* this.

Every second. Chest to chest and cheek to cheek and cock to leaking cock. Giles so hot for him he's *leaking*. He's doing this, making Giles pant so humid against his ear, grip his hand so tight it almost hurts and thrust and thrust. And to never get enough of the kisses. So much passion without pain, without the rudeness of teeth, just force and feeling and experience behind each one, even the ones that are only a wet brush of mouth to mouth. Drag like velvet all over Xander's body.

"Xander, I... can't --"

Thrill of iced fire and then Xander's hand is free and he's on his back and Giles is oh God *over* him, just fucking and fucking against him and braced with one arm, using the other to pinch and play with Xander's nipples.

Arch and counterthrust and move and *feel*. All of it. Absolutely all of it, and when Giles comes slick spunk all over Xander's belly he moans, too. Thrusting up and through the wet, the hot, and losing it, too, trying to groan Giles' name but only managing a long, helpless "ohhh..."

And this time there is no chance whatsoever of resisting unconsciousness, and this time he doesn't even give lip service to trying. Xander has just enough time to notice the smooth, soft *quality* of Giles' bed before his body surrenders to it utterly, closing his eyes to an utterly wrecked-looking Giles grin.

Wakes up to a series of briefly incomprehensible stimuli. Warm light trying to burn through his eyelids, muscles he didn't know he had demanding to know why he hadn't stretched. The clink of china on china, the turning of a page. The smell of sex and... Giles.

And it all comes together in a rush of images. Way, *way* too many images that don't fade until Xander tries to count how many people will want to lynch him now that the spell's worn off. Had the spell worn off?

"Mmmph." He tries again. "Giles." Better.

"Good afternoon, Xander." Giles smiling down on him now, glasses firmly in place.

"Hey."

"Indeed. Can I get you something? Or do you need to go back to sleep?"

"So nice to me --" And Xander cuts himself off, horrified. Mouth moving before brain working equals badness of the happening and. "I mean... did you find out about the spell?"

"I think so. I believe someone or something enhanced your natural pheromones. It should wear off in a few days."

"But... who...?"

"I haven't the foggiest, Xander. Best to just treat the symptoms, and see if they fade."

Xander nods, and Giles goes back to his book for a while. Xander steals sips of coffee, gradually regaining higher brain function.

"Giles..."

"Yes?"

"What symptoms?"

"Ah. Well." And he reaches beside him, and Xander sees something flash silver before --

*click*

-- and yes, he is cuffed to the headboard.

"Um... Giles?"

"Xander, at the rate you're going you'll die of dehydration before the spell fades." "Hey! I can always say no, you know."

"Yes, of course you can." Petting his shoulder. "Just relax, Xander, you'll be quite safe here."

Tests the chain. "Safe?"

"Trust me."

End.

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Xanderslut