All About Spike

Sugar Water
By Annie Sewell-Jennings

Sequel to Candy Floss

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story's nonsensical title is taken away from Cibo Matto, who are famous for their own nonsensical titles. It was a tie between "Sugar Water" and "Sci-Fi Wasabi" as to what won out for the title. ;)



After surviving nineteen years on a Hellmouth, some people might consider Xander Harris a very lucky guy. Those people would be assholes. Xander has absolutely no luck whatsoever. He's been caught in a number of compromising situations. He stumbles ass-backwards into bad situations. Like that hyena possession, or his sorry attempt at winning back Cordelia. He's been mauled, beaten, laughed at, mocked, and trampled on for the majority of his life. So, no. No luck. Not a lick of it.

And this definitely proves it.

The gang is scattered all across his messy, cluttered basement. Giles is flopped out on the beanbag chairs, his glasses dangling from his hand. Buffy and Willow are sharing a futon, and Willow is snoring loudly. Spike's still up, of course. Vampire. They don't sleep at night. Tied up in his chair, at the insistence of Buffy. Giving Xander that smirk. And because of that smirk, Xander now has a painful erection and no way to relieve himself.

He rolls over on his side and for the billionth time in the past month or so curses the Initiative under his breath. Stupid asshole bastards, putting a chip in Spike's head so that he could annoy the fuck out of him and then seduce him. Stupid government monkeys, trying to kill Buffy so they all had to hide out here.

And Spike's not helping matters. Oh, no. Far from it. Because the vampire is evil and bored and wants to make Xander's life a living hell, he's been torturing him all night long. Little innuendos. Nasty little asides. Flirty looks, pointed gestures.

He wants him so fucking bad.

No! He hates him! He's an evil, blood-sucking fiend who's making Xander miserable. Except that he's not. Miserable, that is. He's actually kind of happy. Kind of ... okay. But not okay! Because Spike's evil, and this is evil, and fucking Spike is wrong, even if it feels so very good.

Ah, the internal monologue of Xander, butt-monkey to the gods.

Spike's rustling in his ropes. No, don't look at him. If he looks at him, Spike will inevitably be doing something dirty and hot, and that will only make matters worse. His cock is aching right now, his blood all fevered and hot. Xander turns on his side and squeezes his eyes tightly shut. Pulls the covers over his head.

Good. This is good. If I can just hide under the sheets for the rest of the night, then no one will notice that I have a raging hard-on for a vampire, and said vampire will stop sexually harassing me.


Except that even with his eyes closed, he can see Spike. Pressed against the backs of his eyelids. Sinuous, slinky body shifting and tugging against the restraints. Long legs sprawled out in front of him, with that frustrated sulk on his nasty-pretty mouth. Twisting and turning, and oh, there's the little white strip of his belly when the shirt rides up ...

"Xander."

The cool, husky whisper in his ear scares the absolute crap out of him. Xander opens his mouth to scream, but there's a sudden hand on his mouth. Cool and hard, but soft at the palms.

Spike. Oh, God, he's escaped.

When he peeks out from under the covers, the vampire is sitting on the bed next to him, his eyes all dark and liquidy in the dark. He looks amazing in shadow. God, those cheekbones. He looks like a god. Like the devil, come to collect his soul. "Best not scream too loud, pet," he murmurs silkily. "Don't want to wake the others."

When Spike moves his hand away from Xander's mouth, he smacks at Spike's hip. "Goddammit!" he hisses. "What the hell are you doing? How'd you get out of those ropes?"

Spike looks smug. As usual. "Slayer's no boy scout with ropes, that's for certain," he says. "Tied 'em too loose. 'Sides, I've had years of practice being tied up."

About ten billion dirty thoughts about Spike and restraints ram through Xander's brain with the speed of a jet engine. He's surprised that his head doesn't explode. Both of them.

The smirk gets pornographic. Spike leans down, putting his hands on either side of Xander's body. Pins him down so he can't run away. No need, really. Xander doesn't think his legs are working right now anyway. "As for what I'm doing ..."

Spike suddenly ducks his head down and his mouth is on his throat. Xander swallows a cry as Spike sucks hard on the skin right under his ear, scrapes his teeth across the spot, and then kisses it softly. When he's done, he gives him a coy look. "Well, I think you know what I'm doing."

Xander's voice is shaky. "Trying to drive me crazy? Spike, we can't. The others-"

"The others don't matter," Spike purrs. "Come on, love. I promise I'll be quiet."

A weak laugh. Spike's hands are moving over the covers, touching his thigh through the layers of linens. "Spike ... oh, Jesus ... it's not you I'm worried about. And if they hear ... if they find out ..."

"What, find out you're gay?" He shrugs. "So? Witch's got lesbian porn on her computer."

"I'm not-" Xander gapes at him, suddenly jarred. "Willow has lesbian porn? How do you know?"

"Saw it when she left her laptop here last week."

"You snooped through her laptop? Spike!"

He grins. "Red's a dirty girl."

"Mmm ... sausages ..."

Both men freeze and turn around to look in the direction of the sound. Giles is stirring in his sleep, smiling a little to himself. "Fancy ... pork." Then he's back to snoring.

Xander really doesn't get librarians.

And instantly, Spike's back on him. Tugging at the covers, nuzzling Xander's neck. "See?" he murmurs. "Quiet as the grave."

But Xander shakes his head. "No, no way. We can't. It's wrong."

Spike kisses him, but not really. Just breezes his lips against his, flicks his tongue over Xander's lower lip. He thinks he whimpers. "I know you want this."

God, yes. He really, really does. At this moment in time, there is nothing Xander wants more than to just pin Spike down on his skinny white ass and fuck the absolute crap out of him. Wants his dick, wants his kiss, wants his hands. Wants him to talk dirty to him and say funny British words that sound really, really erotic in that sordid voice of his.

When Spike's hand brushes Xander's erection through the covers, Xander almost doubles over in bliss. Oh, God, so good. Feels so good. "So go ahead," Spike whispers. "Take it."

Another stroke, and Xander almost blacks out. "In the closet," he rasps. "Now."

It's a terrifying trip, those four feet from the bed to the closet door. Easy for Spike, the way he just kind of glides across the floor. Vampire grace. Lucky bastard. Xander, of course, is stumbling over his feet in the dark, praying to God that none of his friends wake up and see him going into a closet with Spike.

But none of them stir. None of them notice. Funny, how that kind of hurts.

But as soon as they shut the closet door, they're all over each other and nothing hurts at all.

It's frantic and desperate, and the storage closet is so full of junk that they have almost no room to move around. Doesn't matter, they can barely separate as it is. Spike's got his hands moving all over Xander, his hands sliding and shimmying under his shirt. Jesus-oh-God, this is so good, this is so fucking bad.

They're kissing each other harder than nails, each trying to one up the other. Biting and snarling, and only separating to shed articles of clothing. He's feverish, he's going mad, he's losing his shit. His fingers start fumbling on Spike's jeans, and of course, he's not helping matters much. Too busy nibbling on Xander's ear.

"I hate you so much for this," he hisses in Spike's ear. "I really, really hate you."

Spike moans when Xander pulls out his cock. Hard, oh yeah, so hard. Makes him feel good, the fact that someone like Spike wants him this bad. It probably says something really bad about him. Like he should be a serial killer, or a janitor.

"Gonna kill you," Spike gasps. "When I get this sodding ... oh, fuck, you sweet bastard ... chip out ..."

"Shut up."

It's so dark in there. Almost pitch-black. Can't turn the light on; the others might see. But everything's all hot and frenzied, and he can't take his hands off Spike. Xander pushes him against a wall, desperate with need, and accidentally steps on an old fire-engine. He stumbles, but Spike's got his hand on his hip.

"S'all right," he murmurs. Buttery voice. God. "I've got you now." His hand slides over to Xander's cock. He swears he can almost see Spike's smirk, even in the dark. "In more ways than one."

Spike grabs him rough at the hips. Pulls him close. Xander gasps; he can feel Spike's erection against his own, and it's so good. All that sensitive, swollen skin, aching and yearning for contact.

He's growling now. Rich and dark. It's really terrible, the way all Spike's animal noises turn him on. Growling, snarling, purring. Xander puts his hand on Spike's chest. Feels the vibration against his palm.

For a second, it's better than a heartbeat.

"Oh, yeah," Spike purrs in his ear. "Like that, don't you? Come on, give it to me. Do it good. Yeah, oh yeah, like that-"

And Spike's talking too loud, so Xander has to shut him up with a kiss.

They're rocking together. Cock to cock, kissing and gasping. Loving and hating. But underneath it all, Xander can hear Giles snoring. He knows that all his friends and family are out there, fast asleep, while he sneaks away and fucks their mortal enemy. If they ever found out ... oh, God, they'd kill him. Because this is not a thing nice boys do.

Nice boys don't know what they're missing.

The fucking is certainly far from nice tonight. It's hard and fast, frantic and clandestine. No time to waste. They have to make this quick. Just a little midnight snack, that's all. Spike reaches down between them and strokes Xander's aching balls. "Like that, you do, when I touch you. Bet you wanna come. Bet you want it so bad-"

Xander wants to scream. Wants to yell at the stars. Wants to cry, gasp, moan, beg, anything for release. His body is on fire. He's burning up, and Spike keeps whispering terrible things in his ear. Grunting, groaning, his knees weak with arousal. And all the while, he can feel Spike's cock against his, silky-smooth and hard, and he's thrusting, begging ...

"Oh, shit," Xander gasps. "I'm gonna scream-"

Just as he comes, Spike claps a cool hand over his mouth, and the cry he gives at his release is stifled in the vampire's cool, smooth palm. His teeth scrape against the skin, and then Spike gives a strangled little sound as he comes, too.

Neither of them move for a moment. Just stay all tangled up together, and Xander leans his sweaty cheek against Spike's cool shoulder. Feels so nice. Who knew vampires could feel so good? His eyes are heavy with sleep, and his knees are weak. Feels drowsy. Good kind of drowsy. And the quiet, well, that's nice, too. Could fall asleep just standing up, in the nice, soft vampire and the nice, soft silence ...

"Y'know, it's kind of ironic that we just had gay sex in a closet."

Xander winces.

Reluctantly, he pulls apart from Spike and uses his ratty old sleep shirt for the both of them to kind of clean up. They both get dressed, fumbling for clothes in the dark, and Xander doesn't want to do this part. Doesn't want to go back out there. Wants to stay here in the closet with Spike, and fuck, the guy's right. It really is ironic.

But he follows Spike back out to the basement area. As Xander looks around at his sleeping friends, guilt washes over him like a wave. They don't know what he just did. What he's been doing. And God, what he'll probably continue to do.

A cool hand slides around his for just a moment, like a ghost of compassion, and then it's gone.

Spike heads back around to his chair, and then arches an eyebrow in Xander's direction. "Gonna help tie me up?" he asks, a little wicked light sparking in his eyes.

Xander just rolls his eyes. "Whatever, Spike."

As he starts winding the ropes around the vampire's body, carefully tying the knots (and he has to admit, Buffy doesn't know her way around a set of restraints to save her life), a little ache flares in his chest. He's going to have to sleep alone tonight. No cool, lean body pressed against his. Nothing to remind him that there's someone for him, even when he's sleeping. Even if the person's completely wrong and bad for him.

Apparently, he's not the only one thinking this. Spike brushes his fingers down the inside of Xander's arm. Gives him those almost-innocent eyes. "You know, don't have to tie me up," he says softly. "Could just let me sleep with you. I'll get out before dawn, I promise."

He thinks about it. Aches for it. When did that start? When did he start needing Spike not only for the sex, but for the good parts that came after it? For the holding and the kissing, for the talking and the laughing? When did he start needing him in order to get to sleep every night?

But then in the background, Buffy stirs. Makes a humming noise in her throat and turns over. Little yummy sushi pajamas. She doesn't look older than twelve in these surroundings. Innocent.

Xander shakes his head slowly. "I can't," he says softly. "I'm sorry."

He's so sorry he can't believe it.

One rope left to tie. The one around his left elbow. Xander picks up the rope, but Spike moves his arm. Cups Xander's hand with his cheek. Kisses him long and slow, like a lullaby. He whimpers a little into the kiss, leaning into Spike's palm, and then Spike pulls away.

"Good night, Xander."

He doesn't have the words. He just finishes tying Spike up and heads to bed. But when he gets under the covers, he doesn't go to sleep. Instead, Xander turns on his side and watches Spike. Watches his eyes fall shut and his lips part just slightly. He looks beautiful in the shadows. His hair's a little mussed, his fingers twitching in his sleep. So vivid. He can almost feel ...

Xander's asleep in seconds.

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