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| a.connor a.doyle a.lindsey a.oz a.spike a.wesley a.xander a.other three.somes het.fic character.study |
| Title: Something Nice Author: Sophia Jirafe Pairing: Spike/Xander (Angel) Rating: NC-17 Setting: Early BtVS S7 It wasn't happening. No metaphorical denial there; it simply, literally wasn't happening. "Open up, Harris," Spike demanded in a whisper. "Can't," he grunted, butting Spike's head away with his own. "*Can*," Spike answered. He thrust forward again with a steady pressure, but it was useless as trying to fit sink piping into a wiring shaft. "Look, give it up already," Xander hissed furiously, wriggling away. "My ass virginity remains intact." "Ass virginity?" Spike snorted. "What kind of pansy talk is that?" "It's man-talk for 'enough with the butt piracy, get the hell off'," Xander said as he tried to rear up. Spike held him down easily, his bare chest pressed against Xander's back, leaching off heat even through Xander's flannel shirt. "Not so fast, mate," Spike growled, reaching out for the lube again. He coated himself with a few hard strokes, then slapped a cold handful onto Xander, making him jerk away. "Now we do it right." "Jesus - careful!" Xander gasped as Spike began to push his knees farther apart. "You wanted to know what vampire sex is like, I'm showing you. You wanted a warm body to cuddle up with -- " " -- Christ, you're anything but *warm* -- " " -- I'm giving you one. So shut your gob and let me fuck you. And *relax*, damn it." One finger. Two. Three. The numbers went up faster than before, and there were four fingers in Xander's ass, twitching in a way that made *him* twitch, before he could tell Spike there was no way in hell he was going to relax in bed with this undead naked *thing* who was - "Going to fuck you now, mate. Whether your ass is ready or not." It started again, that blunt, impossible pressure. Only maybe working just a little bit more that "not at all." Starting to slip in a millimeter or two and the feeling was so fucking weird he clenched up tight all over again. "Think of something nice, Harris," Spike murmured in his ear. "What are you thinking about now?" *My poor ass*, he meant to say. "Buffy," he admitted in a low voice, surprising himself. Spike tensed immediately, and he felt a surge of cruel victory. "Well, of course," Spike said in a tight, dangerous voice. "You've been after the bint for years - must've killed you to know she'd turn you down for someone like me." "Shut up," Xander said through gritted teeth. "Fucking forget I said it." "Wondering if we did it like this?" Spike went on. "Wondering if she liked me inside her? Wondering if she ever thought of you that way?" "Shut UP, shut UP," Xander snapped, trying to pull away. Spike grasped his shoulders and dug his fingers in. "The answers, mate, are yes, yes, and no," he whispered. The words crawled into Xander's ear like beetles. "Fuck you, asshole," Xander said quietly. "I think you've got our positions reversed," Spike said, thrusting against Xander's tightness to prove his point. "Now, I said think of something *nice*. Buffy certainly is not." Xander couldn't help but agree. Buffy was too ... *huge* a thing between them to even think about without a major freakout. "What did *you* think about your first time?" he asked testily. "Blood and the screams of tortured innocents?" "Close," Spike breathed, inching in. "Thought about the man who was doing it." "Headmaster of Sir Switch's School for Wayward Boys?" Xander asked as he caught his breath. *Relax*, he thought. "Stupid sod. Angelus, of course," Spike answered, punctuating the shock of his words with a sudden, splitting thrust. Xander made an embarrassing, strangled moan, ate pillow, and asked, in a perfectly calm squeak, "Angel?" Spike laughed softly, sending a cool puff of air onto his neck. "Yeah, Angel. Angelus. Whatever. Used to shag me till I bled, or till he bled, whichever came first. Wanna see what that felt like?" "Uhh," Xander mumbled to the pillow, concentrating only on those crazy sensations his brain told him *couldn't* feel good. "Come on," Spike purred. "Can't tell me you never imagined it before. Big, strapping, manly man like that -- " And in a flash, Xander *did* see. Angel, broad-shouldered and dark- eyed, bending him over, dick enormous like it must be on a guy like that, and just *taking* him -- -- like Spike was taking him, speeding up, changing those feelings from weird-as-hell to oh-god-good, and making his hard cock ache like nobody's business -- -- but maybe Angel would have given him that reacharound, maybe he would have grabbed and *squeezed* and jerked, like he was jerking himself, while Angel, god, *fucked* him and moaned -- -- "*Xander*" like Spike was moaning, those fingers digging in again and that ashy leather smell of his skin so sharp and his thrusts so hard -- -- and maybe Angel would have smelt better, been softer, seen the love that Xander was just begging to give away to someone, anyone, with half a heart and a soul -- -- but Spike *had* a soul, and fat lot of good that did anyone, since he wouldn't even brood or *apologize* like he should, just stand there so quietly like he knew more than anyone else, like that fucking extra century made him some kind of all-knowing god -- -- like *Angel* with his two-fifty-plus years and his weary superiority and his -- -- christ, didn't matter which vampiric dick was fucking him how because he was gonna come gonna come gonna -- "Gonna come," Spike fairly spat in his ear seconds before pulsing inside him, the slippery heat so weird he almost missed his own orgasm soaking the sheets. They lay there, wet, hot. He swore Spike was breathing. "Am I a better lay than Angel?" he panted after a moment. "Dunno. Never fucked him." "Buffy?" "This way, yeah. Got more padding than the bint." Spike smacked his ass, but he was too tired even to flinch. "Great. Thanks." -End Feedback |