All About Spike - Plain Version
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Learning Curve: A Divertissement
Summary: Its care and feeding, its moods and manners.
Setting: I don't know when this is set. Season 4? It doesn't matter.
Strange, really, that he'd given so much thought, for some years now, to his own cock, and yet so very little to anybody else's.
Like, really, no, really, truly: none.
And mondo strange, life-on-the-Hellmouth strange, that the first cock he should have desire, reason, and leisure to contemplate in detail, would be this one.
It was, like its owner, pretty, most extraordinarily pretty, but unlike its owner, it was also quite friendly and attentive. It's owner had a tendency to slouch, to sneer, but this cock, in his so-far limited experience of it, generally stood up straight. Well, not entirely straight. There was a sort of curve . . . and, straight . . . he was learning, was not really a word to describe vampires.
Especially not this one.
Nor, he realized, was straight a word to describe himself. Not anymore.
Which was why he was such an apt pupil of Spike's cock, its care and feeding, its moods and manners.
Right now Spike was asleep, splayed out on his back in that come-stake-me pose he so often assumed (impossible to imagine Spike curled up, the way he himself so often needed to be before he could drift off.) The cock, as if sensing its audience, was half-erect, pearly-tipped. There was no breathing to make it rise and fall until Xander shifted closer and breathed on it. Then it stretched and grew, like a flower in one of those speeded-up botany films he'd seen in junior high. It reached towards his lips like they were the sun.
At the far corner of his vision, something pale moved. Spike's hand came down on his head. But gently. The fingers moving into his hair, soft. His voice following, low. "Would be pleasant if you'd give it a suck, Harris."
Spike didn't touch him—talk to him—like this at the beginning. At the beginning it was nasty, and ouch!hothothot , and for every offense there was a defense. He'd gone down . . . later, in a state of delirious incredulity, he'd let Spike fuck him. It took a long time before he'd consent to kiss, before he learned that kissing, somehow, was the most intense part of having Spike. Even then the anger, the pushmepullyou of power rappelled between them, so they bounced apart as soon as it was over.
Nothing changed until the first time they fell asleep together.
Xander thought about it a lot now: how Spike was looking at him when he woke up, to find the vampire's head sharing his pillow, his face just far enough away that he could see it from brow to chin.
He'd not realized he meant anything by it, letting his guard go long enough to drift off instead of leap up. He wasn't conscious of it, until he saw that look on Spike's face, an infinite melting in the eyes.
"Lyin' next to you's better than a good coal fire. S'nice."
"Warm . . . never slept before with anyone warm."
Xander didn't pause to think about it, just like he hadn't paused to think about falling asleep last night. He put an arm out and gathered Spike in. That first quiet top-to-toe embrace: he never wanted to forget it. Vampire's skin like poured silk. That tiny sigh escaping him as he fitted his head under Xander's chin. Then lying there, perfectly still, waiting for the bubble to pop, for reality to reassert itself. Because this couldn't be Spike, he couldn't be cuddled up with Spike. One thing to do the weird fucked-up secret gayboy mystery dance with him. Quite another to do this.
But they did. Of course there was the reaction—a stupid week of running around trying to pretend it had never happened and never would again, before he'd collapsed back into the desire that just increased every time he sated it. Couldn't walk away from something like Spike. Not when the man could cover him like a jaguar, teeth in his neck while he whip-sawed him into the most incredible sobbing spend of his life, until the next one . . . and afterwards turn into a big somnolent cat draped around him, that tongue tracing cool spirals along his jaw, down his neck . . . .
No one knew. No one knew Spike gave him such tender glances, or would kiss him in a sort of trance while they stroked each other's cocks, not hard enough to get off but just to keep that satiny flowy feeling going while the TV chattered in front of them, and the hours slipped by, until he couldn't stand it anymore, and they'd move to the bed to finish. As far as the Scoobies knew, Xander was still straight, and Spike still had no other expression for any of them but the knowing sneer.
Xander wasn't sure how much longer that could go on, but at this moment the question wasn't all that important. It would be pleasant, Spike said, to take this pretty cock in his mouth, pleasant for both of them.
So he did.
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