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Viewpoint
by Thamiris
Saturday, December 29, 2001
12:15PM - BtVS: Spike/Xander (NC-17)
For cicirossi, because she needs a distraction. Only for you, babe.
___
Xander blames Spike's cheekbones. They run so high that he's still
only halfway up the left one when Spike catches him.
"What are you looking at?" Pretty defiant for a guy tied to a chair,
prisoner number one and only in the house of Giles. "Never figured you
for the Marquis de Sade type, unlike your little friends."
"Just making sure those ropes are tied tight--in a strictly non-S&M
way." Because this isn't OZ, or even Hogan's Heroes, just some
babysitting of one renegade vampire.
"I don't have ropes on my face, boy-o. Go stand behind me if you're so
interested." Spike sounds bored, but he's watching Xander like maybe
he's measuring his cheekbones. Or something else, which is the only
reason that Xander starts to move, nerves twitchy and sending confused
signals south. He walks from Giles' couch to the chair where Spike
sits, bound like an exhibit on the Spanish Inquisition.
Spike's still watching, and yeah, it's very still watching, doing that
vampire thing where he moves less than a statue. He's dead, after all,
and can do weird tricks, which is why Xander has to check the ropes,
even though they're Buffy-tied.
"You know," Spike says, as Xander steps behind him, "you can see some
pretty strange things from here."
Xander freezes, scanning the room for two-headed monsters, but sees
only Giles' dusty living room and the back of Spike's very blond head.
"I don't see anything."
"Maybe you're not looking hard enough. Step a little closer."
"Listen, Granny, I'm wise to your wolf disguise, okay? So don't try any
funny business. I'm pretty handy with an ax."
"Relax. I can't eat you when you're standing behind me like that."
"You planning to eat me?"
"I'm just trying to show you something." A heavy sigh. "Stand behind
me and bend down a little."
"You know that Giles is upstairs sleeping, right? All I have to do is
yell, and he'll be here carving his initials on your chest."
"Just lean."
So Xander does, cautiously, because the command's stripped of everything
but boredom, bends over Spike's shoulder until his cheek is practically
against Spike's. "I don't see anything--Whoah." He doesn't see anything unusual,
but sure feels it: Spike's hand closing over his cock. He's about to scream,
or quip, or faint, when Spike starts to stroke. "I, uh, think we need to have
that good-touching, bad-touching talk again."
"Which one is this?"
"Definitely good. I mean, bad. I mean, what are you doing?" His scandalized-virgin
routine sounds half-hearted, and he gives it up. All brain cells are required to
evaluate this situation. So, he evaluates.
Spike is groping him, well, a sustained, expert kind of groping that's scrambling
Xander's normal reaction to vampire handjobs. Also, it seems that if he turns his
head just a fraction, they'd be kissing. And, he observes with admirably clinical
detachment, he might want this. Because Spike is strong, pretty and blond, like
Buffy, which has always pushed some funky-monkey buttons for Xander, but also
because Spike never gets tired, never gives up, never stops fighting. Sometimes
Xander wants to, especially after the not-so-pleasant glimpses he's had of eternity,
which tend to be either very painful or very boring. So, okay, maybe he admires
that in Spike. The uncrushability.
Shoot him now.
All right, not now, not quite, not with Spike unzipping Xander's pants, and, "Oh,
boy." Vaguely, he remembers Anya, and cheating, and what even now-human vengeance
demons do, but Spike's not even alive, or female, so how bad could it be?
"Best defense is a good offense. That's what the sports blokes are always
saying. Give it a try." Spike sounds cheery, like they're at a football game
or a gladiator match.
"You want me to--"
"Offend me."
Xander remembers Willow's spell from the other day, the one that made Buffy
and Spike in love, and wonders if that's why he's reaching between Spike's
thighs and fumbling with very tight leather. Because holding Spike's hard cock
in his hand, while Spike holds his, is definitely witching hour stuff. Okay,
sure, maybe he's had a fantasy or two--who wouldn't, with a pretty guy like Spike
caught and displayed in the middle of Giles' apartment like some kind of human
Tootsie Roll? "Is that offensive enough?"
"It's a start." Spike's spreading his legs wide as he can, his ankles still firmly
bound to the chair legs. "Maybe a little faster...Yeah, like that."
Yes, he's thrusting into Spike's hand, the way Spike is thrusting into his. Maybe
even harder, because unlike Spike, he's not tied to a chair. "You must, oh God, get
pretty bored just sitting there." Spike's fingers started cold, but now they're hot,
and they're moving with a rhythm Xander never even knew existed.
"What do you think? Sitting here, listening to you lot getting all the action. I
wanted some of my own."
The sad truth is that Xander's a little hurt. What did he think, that Spike might've
had his own fantasies, unrelated to spending his free time as kinky performance art?
"Sure, I understand."
Spike shifts, so that one hand is holding the head of Xander's cock, the other one
stroking it. "Not sure you do."
A few gasps later, Xander registers this weird little twist in Spike's voice. Can't
turn his head, though, not with the whole mouth-proximity thing, so he can't see
Spike's eyes. "What do you mean? I'm on the ball. I'm in the know. I get things.
Sure, Willow looks like the smart one, and Giles is the book guy, but I'm not a
total--"
"You have good hands," Spike says. Like Xander, Spike talks in a deliberately slow
way, like the words are ready to rush out.
"That's me. Good-handed boy. It's a gift, really--"
"Xander."
Spike has turned his head, and Xander figures it's only polite to do the same thing.
Spike's tongue is hot, like he's all stirred up inside now, and he tastes like...
Cookies. Courtesy of Will and her post-spell guilt.
It's a relief, like this isn't weird, but right, and Xander licks Spike's tongue and
jerks him off, and the room is getting very, very hot.
Hotter.
Hands moving so fast now, kissing hard, moans that he feels in his chest, and he's
going to...
A rush that's like wind under his skin, and he gasps into Spike's mouth, Spike, who's
wire-tense now, and licking, and, there it is, hot and wet in his hand, the way Xander
is hot and wet in his.
Waits until his breathing's less locomotive, and steps back. There's a box of Kleenex
and Xander cleans himself up, then cleans up Spike. Stays quiet, embarrassed now,
guilty, too. Guilty for the wrong reasons. "I can't untie you," he says to Spike.
"I know."
"Even if I wanted to."
"I know." Spike stretches as best he can, and kind of laughs.
Xander clears his throat, and decides to be brave. "Maybe I'll come by tomorrow and
take over the watch from Will. You know. To see if you're bored." Sounds way too defiant.
"I think I will be."
He thinks that Spike is smiling, not a smirk, but a real smile, and tries one of his
own. It feels fine. "Good. And maybe you can show me just what it is you see when you're
sitting in that chair."
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