Xander still couldn’t dance, but he’d lost the flailing awkwardness of adolescence, age and experience giving him a hint of gracefulness. Anya molded her body to his, leading because she always led, even when it was only because his hand was holding hers. And he loved her for it, just as she loved that he let her. They ground together, too lost in the feel of their bodies against each other to really pay attention to the rhythm of the music. Everything around them, music, people, even the smoke-thick air, all of it was unimportant compared to the thrust and sway of their bodies, the smell of her sweat and the cold trickle down the back of his own neck.
But that those things were there—ears to hear the dirty promises they whispered, eyes to watch an erection grind into material damp with want—that made it even better. It was why they came. . .
At least, it was one reason.
They danced until they were sodden and breathless in desire, the ache of their muscles a pleasant buzz underneath the constant want they felt for each other. Even after three years, Xander still got hard just by looking at the woman he’d married, and Anya’s demands hadn’t slowed down the slightest. Sometimes they made love, and sometimes they just rutted, but every time between them was always good. Always as hot and frenetic as the first time.
Anya turned coyly in his arms, flashing almost-bare breasts to the watching crowd. The immediate possessive growl made her smile, eyes meeting her husband’s because she was his. He knew it, she knew it, hell they all knew it, too, but that didn’t mean the game was less fun. Just that hint of flesh no eyes but Xander’s should see, and he was grabbing her close, pressing the exposed skin into his soaked shirt, covering her completely. She laughed into his neck, rewarding his jealousy by slithering wantonly in his arms. Xander held her even tighter, locking her body as best as he could, her hips rocking into his spread legs.
“I have a surprise for you,” Anya whispered—well, shouted—squirming away before Xander caught her arm again. “In the bathroom.”
Xander didn’t respond, but Anya’s clever little hands were burrowing against him, waiting for the jump of excitement that echoed burning black eyes. She smiled, pleased, when she felt it, rolling her hand until Xander’s head fell back, mouth lolling as he sucked in air.
“Go to the bathroom,” she told him. “I’ll be there soon.”
“Together?” She loved the way it always took him a few minutes to regain breath enough to speak, the effort not so much a testament to her skill, but the power she had over him. The power he let her have. “Miss you.”
“I’m standing right here, how can you miss me?” But she was grinning in return, hands sliding up and around his waist to grab onto his buttocks. “Go, Xander. You’ll like it.” Rising on her toes, Anya licked his lower lip. “Promise.”
The bathroom was always dirty and smelled foul, but they’d had good times there, too, so Xander did as he was asked, fighting through the crowd to barrel into the right room. They’d done it in the wrong room, too, but that got them annoyed girls and purse-beatings, so not often. But the right room. . . was empty. Xander blinked, surprised that there wasn’t a single person in the room. He even ducked down to check underneath the stalls, just in case. Nothing. The men’s room didn’t get the lines the ladies’ room did, true, but there was usually someone in here. Which meant. . .
Cool hands wrapped around his wrists, pulling his arms tight behind his back. He struggled, instincts overriding the lust, until a curt order made him go lax. Maybe even snuggle against a chest smaller than his own, since there was no one there to see. Yet.
“Ah, ah,” he was told, lips tickling his ear. “Come in here, all defenseless, struttin’ around like you own the place? Better be careful, pet, somebody might try to eat you.” A sharp tug meant his captor was considering it. Xander moaned, arching into the pull. “Yeah, baby, just like that.”
His arms abruptly released, Xander found himself pushed over one of the sinks, pants already around his knees. No underwear, of course—he wasn’t a fast learner, but some things were just too easy to ignore. His captor murmured soft compliments and insults, harsh and gentle at the same time as strong hands worked his ass.
“Nice an’ ready for me, aren’t you? Watchin’ you out there, pressed up against your girl, all tight muscles and mmmm,” long lick up his exposed spine, “soft skin. An’ me, stuck back here, just waitin’ till it’s my turn to get you. That’s it, pet, push back at me now.”
Two slick fingers were worming into his body, filling and stretching and just barely grazing that one spot deep inside. He moaned and whimpered, hips working to try and get the fingers, now three, in deeper, on that one place that felt so damned good. But each movement was anticipated, fingers sliding away right before he could get them where he wanted. “Please,” he begged, knowing that anyone outside could hear the plea, instantly understanding that someone inside was getting sucked or fucked, and that only made it better. “Please.”
“Not yet, dirty boy. It’s early yet, girls aren’t supposed to be here for another half hour or so.”
Xander’s head snapped up, wide eyes reflected in the grungy mirror, searching for the invisible figure behind him. “What?” he squeaked. “The who?”
“The girls,” he was told, a hand on his neck forcing his head back down, holding him while he wriggled. A denim-covered erection pressed into his hip, rubbing distractingly while the fingers inside him continued to move. “Thought we’d invite them to come watch.”
Lust washed over him, velvet-dark depths keeping him pliant as he was twisted again, shoved to his knees, thumb on his jaw to force it open and accept a thick cock. Xander closed his lips, sucking hard, tongue zeroing in the sensitive spot at the underside of the head. Hands were buried into his hair, “Hot, so fuckin’ hot,” pressing his head down faster than he wanted, making him choke just a little, “That’s it, pet, take me all in,” before pulling him back up. Xander let himself be tugged and pulled, lips and tongue working all the while, knowing that he’d be kept there until his ‘captor’ was ready.
“Very pretty.” Anya’s voice was dim, his left ear almost completely covered by a flat palm, the surf-sound of his own blood echoing back inside, but he could always recognize that satisfied tone. “You talked to the management, Spike?”
“Yeah, oh yeah, baby, you know just what I like. Harder, luv, with teeth—fuck, yeah.”
“Xander. Stop sucking Spike’s cock for a minute. Now,” she said when Xander paused, mouth still filled but unmoving, eyes rolling to look at her. “Spike. Did you talk to the management?”
Spike was trembling on his tongue, hips jerking in tiny movements. Xander couldn’t see his face without looking away from Anya—something he knew better than to do—but he could hear the frustrated annoyance loud and clear. “Yes, you inconsiderate woman, I talked to the soddin’ management. Ten minutes, tops. If there’s no crowd.”
“Oh, good. That means we’ll be walked in on.” Smiling happily, Anya dug into her purse for a large white cloth—towel? “Prop him up, please,” she instructed.
“Good thing we like bossy women, mate,” Spike told him, tugging him off his cock with a pop and hauling him upright. Xander’s hands were placed on the gritty tiled walls, legs kicked out and spread wide, with his hips canted backwards: spread open and totally defenseless. “There now. Pet, did you bring the cuffs?”
Anya laid the towel at Xander’s feet, fussily ensuring that her knees would be protected the whole time. Her back was covered with Xander’s jacket, just in case she might brush up against the wall—it was okay for him to touch it, but not her.
She looked up at Spike’s question, eyes sliding past Xander as if he were as unimportant as the sink next to them. “I thought you had them.”
“No, you said, you were gonna bring ’em. How’m I supposed to chain him up to the pipes without cuffs?” Spike thumped Xander’s splayed hands. “He’s gonna move!”
“No, he’s not. He’ll be good.”
“No, he won’t.”
“Yes, he will!”
Right. Listening to this was cute, and all, but Xander was standing between two almost-fully clothed people, naked from waist to mid-calf, cock hanging out and twitching randomly while they argued around him. Not fun.
He coughed experimentally. “Not that I have any idea what you’re talking about,” he said, eyes planted on the ceiling so he couldn’t even catch a glimpse of a reaction, “but I’m not going to move. And the cuffs are still at home, I saw them before I met Anya here.”
“Ah,” two voices said, and like a switch, the arguing stopped. Xander had three more breaths to remind them of what they were supposed to be doing—and then warm hands were stroking his shaft, two not-as-warm fingers once again pressing inside his body.
“Oh, god,” he told the ceiling, closing his eyes and trying to keep his mind within his skull.
Spike’s cock slowly slid into him, just as Anya eased her mouth from tip to base—perfectly synchronized and steady and incredible. It felt like Anya was sucking Spike off, instead of him, or Spike was fucking her through Xander, or maybe he was fucking himself, all wet and tight and stretched and full. . . Sensations skittered through his body, electric sparks that left him trembling and breathless and he couldn’t fall, not with the two of them surrounding him, and that was good because Xander wasn’t sure his knees were working.
They held totally still for a moment, all three trembling with the effort of not moving, letting themselves just feel. Not what, but who, and why, and that was almost better than what. That one perfect moment that had nothing to do with sex, or maybe everything, and it just felt so fucking right. Just whole and full and filling and connected, and for a second, Xander wished they never had to move from this position again.
But then Spike was wrapping his arms around Xander’s waist, a bear-hug that could’ve been sweet if he didn’t know that it was more about limiting Xander’s mobility, forcing them to do the work and him to hold almost completely still, than affection. Even though it was affectionate, too, with random designs tattooed into his hips and sides from Spike’s fingers and Anya painting her own patterns on his thighs and ass. It never mattered that he was the biggest of the three, not when they were like this. They were surrounding him, covering him, and he basked in the attention.
Anya set the pace, hair lashing his thighs as she bobbed up and down on Xander’s cock. Spike matched her, rolling forward as she pulled back to gulp air, sliding out while she swallowed him down. The twin sensations of being taken both ways made Xander clutch at the wall, fingers white and trembling from digging into cracked tile, forcing himself to stay upright while pressure behind and below built tantalizingly slowly.
And then they started talking.
“Look at him, pet, all flushed and needy for us.” Spike’s lips were cold and soft against his ear, his voice buzzing at the base of Xander’s skull, dark and just dangerous enough to make Xander stiffen in pleasure-laced fear. “So beautiful like that, isn’t he?”
Anya agreed, the words muffled by her full mouth, vibrations traveling through Xander’s skin to lodge in his spine. Her eyes were glassy from the florescent lights, but Xander could still see lust and love and irrepressible mischief there, the same combination he’d see in Spike’s, if he could. They loved doing this to him, demons—even if one of them wasn’t any longer—jaded from decades amusing themselves, surrounding the poor mortal boy and teasing him until he cried and begged for release.
“So responsive, too. Do that thing—yeah, with your tongue. Love watching him jump like that, all tense and shy, like you’ve never done it before. Like that, yeah? Such a pretty pet. Want her to do it again?” Spike dropped a sucking kiss on Xander’s shoulder, below the silvery mark no one but the three of them ever noticed. “Good boy, you are. My turn to do somethin’, then. Reward you for stayin’ so quiet, so good, god pet, you’re so good.”
Spike was a wordsmith at porn, equally talented at speaking as he was at doing, but he could never last long when he was inside Xander. The heat would get to him, or the way Xander would clench at just the right moment, robbing Spike of his precious words until he was babbling out endearments and insults equally. And when that happened Anya took over, her precise language startling against Spike’s more flowery prose, telling them in clinical detail just what she wanted them to do next and how they made her feel and how good they were to her, giving her all the orgasms she could ever want.
Xander bit his lip hard, knowing that he was going to scream soon. Anya was talking, or trying to, mouth still surrounding his cock, lips and tongue vibrating with every muffled word. Spike was still babbling behind him, speeding up without checking to see if Anya would match him, slamming into Xander’s ass again and again. There would be bruises there tomorrow, from sharp, pointed hips and strong fingers digging into his skin. Xander arched into each thrust, loving the strength of Spike fucking him, the way Anya changed her rhythm to match Spike’s new one, providing a balance for Spike to pound into them both.
But then Anya slipped one hand around to find Spike’s swinging balls, her other hand already rolling and playing with Xander’s. She worked them both, grinning around Xander’s cock when the pounding began on the doors. Pulling off, she looked up at Xander. “You should really come now. Since I hear Buffy outside.”
It was just teasing, it had to be just teasing, but there was still the remote chance that she wasn’t teasing and that really was Buffy’s voice mixing with the increasingly agitated sounds outside. The thrill of being caught, not just him and Anya who’d been caught many times before, but all three of them, sent an extra thrill racing through his body, just as Anya knew it would. And then he lost the battle with his voice when Anya took him back deep inside just as Spike shouted and tried to shove him into the wall, and Xander let out the scream that had been building since he first went into the bathroom, not caring at all that the whole fucking Bronze could probably hear him because he was coming, and Anya was swallowing, and there was cool liquid filling him.
Spike was dead weight on his back, still buried with in him, panting harshly. Anya’s head was resting on his hip, her own panting telling Xander that she’d come when he had, a trick he’d never understood but definitely appreciated, since he really doubted that either he or Spike had enough brain cells left to be considerate. The angry shouting outside meant that he had yelled loud enough for people to figure out why the door was locked, and pretty soon they were going to break the door off its hinges to get in. His hands felt glued to the damned tile and he knew it was going to hurt from wrist to elbow when he finally moved them.
But none of that was important, except for the two heads resting against him, breath gusting over skin that goose-bumped in reaction.
“We should leave now,” Anya murmured, using Xander’s hips to haul herself upright. She opened her mouth to continue when a magically-enhanced voice powered through the door.
“Xander and Anya Harris if you two are in there I am going to kick your asses!”
Not Buffy. Willow.
Spike started giggling first, snorting as he put himself and then Xander to rights. Anya, as she folded up the dirty towel, was doing a better job of stifling hers, but Xander knew they were there. And both of them set off his guffaws, leaning heavily on Spike and trusting supernatural strength to get him out of the bathroom and back into the Bronze proper.
They endured the glares and shouted comments easily, still laughing whenever they looked at each other, sobering slightly when Willow stepped in front of them, hands planted on her hips. Xander had to bite his lip from commenting on how much like Giles she looked. Only stuffier.
“You two nearly caused a riot out here, did you think of that? But no, you never do. Just about Anya’s orgasms and Xander, you aren’t any better and I know you know how to be and—Spike?”
Willow stumbled mid-shout as she finally saw just who Xander was leaning against. He probably shouldn’t have been leaning, but there was jelly where he knees were supposed to be, and sometimes the thrill of not-getting-caught was just plain exhausting. Besides, he didn’t need to defend Spike, the motor-mouth perfectly capable of taking care of himself.
“Oh, like you haven’t thought of watching?”
Flushing and spluttering, it took nearly a solid minute before Willow stopped trying to defend herself and asked, “What were you doing there!”
“S’cover night,” Spike shrugged. “Back window’s loose in the mens, so I hopped in. Saw them two goin’ at it like rabbits, so I bolted the door. Nice show, Harris.” Spike leered, subtly shifting so that it looked like Xander was standing more or less on his own feet.
“We’re going home now,” Xander said, taking pity on Willow. If she flushed any harder she’d be the color of her hair—pre-Miss Clairol days. “See ya tomorrow.”
He didn’t like ignoring Willow, but he was tired and Anya would be ready for round two pretty soon, which meant that Spike would put on a show until Xander felt ready to join in again. Grinning in anticipation, he waved to Willow and followed his lovers out of the Bronze towards his car.
He’d just turned the engine one when he heard Willow calling from the street, “Wait a minute! Why is Spike going with you?!”