My first (published) foray into another fandom.

Lick
October 2004
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Licking. Xander had never thought that could be a turn-on for him, unless it was in an obvious place, but just...being licked. There. Warm and wet, tongue sliding up his neck, lingering at his rapid pulse before moving back down. And weren't vampires supposed to be cold? Not having of the warm lips on his skin, the even warmer tongue. But Spike was warm, and comfortable sprawled out on top of him. Not that Xander was admitting to that. In fact there was so much here his brain and good sense had run screaming from long minutes before, when he'd started to panic at the first lick. Spike was dead weight though, pinning him down to the bed under wiry muscle, the edge of his duster brushing Xander's bare ankle.

Another long, slow lick and Xander shivered, drawing in a shuddering breath. The panic had receded so quickly, too quickly maybe, but that was another thing he was Not Thinking About, right above, "Spike smells good," and about two steps below, "Spike's tongue gets me hard." Because it did, had by the third lick, and Xander refused to follow that thought in any detail. Instead he concentrated on other things, the surprisingly soft feel of bleached hair against his chin, the brush of a silk shirt against his stomach where his own shirt had hiked itself up, the tight grip of hands around his wrists, pinning his arms back against the pillow, another soft, heated lick up the side of his neck, skin oversensitive now, tingling.

His eyes kept trying to drift shut; his body wanted to move, push up against Spike, find some friction, but Xander wasn't about to go there. Not that far. It was bad enough he was just...lying there, letting Spike do...this.

Breath ghosted over Xander's neck, cooling the damp skin and sending a hard shudder through him. Xander gasped.

"You taste...." Spike didn't finish.

Xander jerked his wrists, movement only slight under Spike's grip. "That hurts," he said, voice too rough to be his.

A soft chuckle, lips brushing over his pulse. "Then why's the chip not going off?"

Slick, wet tongue, sliding over his skin again and Xander couldn't hold back the groan, broken as it escaped his lips.

His eyes closed.

Pause
October 2004
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How--why was this happening? It wasn't supposed to go this far. Xander had expected.... He didn't know what he'd expected, what he was doing, why he was here, it just...wasn't supposed to be like this. The air shouldn't have been so still, silent and tense, hints of dust tickling his nose with each leather-scented breath. The floor of the crypt shouldn't have been so hard on his knees, cold through his cargo pants.

And why wasn't Spike's skin cold? Only pleasantly cool, his bare stomach under Xander's hand, fingers splayed out to feel the muscles ripple there with each unneeded breath. Why was Spike breathing? Looking down at him like that, lips parted, eyes heavy lidded.

Why wasn't he saying no?

Leather
October 2004
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Leather got him hard. Xander didn't know how it had happened, when he'd turned into one of Pavlov's dogs, but it was an ingrained response now. The scent of leather, the barest hint of that deep, sharp smell and he was aching. The feel of it through his fingers, against his body, smooth or crisp and tight, and he was on the edge, poised to fall with a taste. That always did him in.

It might've had something to do with the belt Anya liked to use on him -- heavy and thick, leaving stripes of heat across his ass with every sharp slap -- or the cuffs she used to tie him, spread eagled on the bed -- air cool against his naked body, spread out face down for whatever she wanted, leather tight and rough around his ankles and wrists. It could've been the gag too, wide and ball-shaped, fitting so tight in his mouth, smooth surface, sharp taste exploding across his tongue. Xander wasn't willing to rule any of that out.

But he kind of thought he'd liked it before. Before Anya and her bag of toys, before the restraints and punishments had pushed it to the level that tantalized him now. That little fixation had been born a few years before, he thought, when he was willing to think about it, in the halls of the late but so not lamented Sunnydale High. The scent of his own sweat, the tingle of fear moving down his spine, muscles straining vainly against imprisonment, against the arm locked around his neck. The sudden scent of aged leather, and that voice--

"Are you sniffing me?"

Xander met Spike's suspicious gaze with a shrug. "I think you've still got some of that demon goo on you from last night."

"I what--? Oh, bloody hell. Where?" Spike grimaced and pulled his duster open, looking himself over. The scent of leather filled the air between them.

Xander just smiled.

Regrets
November 2004
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He was gonna be sick. Xander knew he was about to revist that cheese sandwich he'd made for dinner and if he'd known this was the last day of his life, he'd have splurged and had a T-bone. Because it was the last day. He was gonna die. Right after he got sick.

Screeching tires, loud even over the ear-piercing noise coming from the radio and suddenly everything was silent, still as the motor cut off.

And somehow he was still alive.

"Move your arse, Harris," Spike said. "Watcher'll think I'm your bloody chauffeur now. My unlife sucks."

Alone
November 2004
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The door shut behind Anya, the sound loud in the suddenly quiet basement. Too quiet after the shouting, her demands for time alone with him, Xander's protests that it wasn't his fault to begin with, that she should blame Giles. He wanted to go after her, beg her to stay and just talk or something, anything besides leaving him here. If she stayed things wouldn't...happen, things would be normal. As normal as they ever were here. Or maybe it wouldn't matter at all.

Familiar rattle behind him, metallic clink of the chains Giles had loaned him. If only Giles had known. On second thought, better he didn't.

Xander didn't want to look, would've been happier just ignoring everything, but his feet were moving on their own. He couldn't help his sudden, sharp intake of breath, an instinctive reaction to the look Spike was giving him, cool gaze sliding over him knowingly.

Chain wrapped loosely around one hand, Spike smirked. "Well," he said, drawing out the word, "demon-girl's gone and left us all alone. So, tie me up or...tie you down?"

A soft gasp, more of a moan; Xander couldn't form any more coherent answer. Spike never needed one anyway.

Boredom
January 2005
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Xander was cold. Not just cold, freezing, he realized as he struggled towards awareness. But that didn't make sense. He'd gone to bed with the heating blanket on, knowing that Spike would appreciate it whenever he got back home and joined him in bed. So why did he feel like he was covered in ice cubes?

Eyes opening blearily, too little sleeping making it hard to focus, Xander gradually began to see the reason he'd been so rudely awakened. The blanket was gone, cast off to the other side of the bed where Spike most definitely was not. No, Spike was straddling him, his hips, to be specific about it, and he was--

"Spike!" Xander yelped, a mix of annoyance and surprise as the scoop of ice cream plopped down onto his stomach, joining what looked to be many others there.

Some were half melted, rivulets trailing down his sides, probably sticking to the sheets by now. White trails of vanilla, streaked through with the red of the Cherry Bordeux, and the dark brown of--

"That was supposed to be for Dawn's party tonight!" Xander protested, glaring up at the naked vampire sitting on him.

"S'okay," Spike said with a smirk, "witches'll bring plenty, now won't they?" Carton of chocolate-chocolate chip ice cream in one hand, metal scoop in the other, Spike dug out another scoop and dropped it on Xander's chest.

"What're you doing?" Xander demanded, a chilled shiver working through him.

"Was bored, pet. Bored, bored, bored." He tossed the scoop to one side as he spoke and the open carton to the other, where it joined the two other cartons on the bed, puddles of melting ice cream collecting under them all, soaking into the sheets.

"Bored--?" Xander rolled his eyes.

Sure, he could start yelling, demand to know just how boredom translated to vandalism with ice cream in Spike's mind, but what good would it do? They'd been down similar roads before and the only thing ranting got Xander was an amused look from Spike and eventually a, "You done? Can we shag now?"

"Fine," Xander said with a resigned sigh, "but you're cleaning this up."

Spike's smirk turned...predatory. He leaned forward, over Xander, hands bracing on the ice cream-soaked bed next to Xander's sides.

"I was planning on it, luv," Spike said, his voice lowering, becoming a purring rumble -- and that next shiver, Xander realized, had nothing to do with the cold.

Spike licked his lips, leaving them shiny and wet. Eyes still locked with Xander's, Spike leaned down further and slowly, so very slowly, ran his tongue over one of the melted trails of ice cream on Xander's chest.

Xander's lips parted on a gasp. Oh yeah, not cold now. Not cold at all.