It's for sorot, who gave me a paid account. I asked what I could write for her in thanks and dared to include porn in the offer because I felt like I needed some practice in that area. So, of course, that's what she jumped on, so I had to give it a go and this was born.

It's called "Fulfilling a Fantasy."
It's Spander.
It's sub/dom PWP and Xander's the dom.
It's kinda non-con.
It probably happens around S5, though some surrounding events would be different.
There should be somewhere between 1 and 3 additional installments.
It's un-beta'd and I don't vouch for the quality. It's all about the kink.

Fulfilling a Fantasy

by
Savoy Truffle

Part One

The magic shop is dark and more than a little creepy. Nothing at all like the Magic Box. But then this shop caters to a much shadier clientele. Which makes him shady, Xander supposes. He can’t deny that what he is about to ask for is something no respectable magic vendor would provide. That’s why he didn’t go to a respectable magic vendor.

He finds it oddly comforting to see that the shop owner is not human. Moral flexibility of the sort he needs is less disturbing in a demon. The shop owner chuckles low in his throat when Xander makes his request.

“You naughty, naughty boy,” he says even as he begins to gather ingredients from around the shop.

“It’s not like you think…” Xander begins, but the knowing look on the shop owner’s face tells him to save his breath. When he has what he needs, he forks over a significant handful of cash and heads back to his apartment.

For some reason, spells make Xander nervous. Though with his history, it’s hard to imagine why. Expensive, supposedly foolproof, do-it-yourself spells are no exception. Still, he’s come this far so he can hardly stop now. Looking over at Spike’s sleeping form, he lays everything out as instructed and starts reading. When he finishes, there are no visible signs of success. No puff of smoke, no flashing white light. Guess there’s only one way to find out…

“Spike? Wake up, Spike.”

Spike stirs, opens his eyes and bolts upright in the bed.

“Harris? What’s going on? What in bloody hell am I doing in your bed?”

So far, so good… Spike makes a move as if to get up.

“Don’t move, Spike.”

And the look on Spike’s face is priceless. Xander can see Spike’s confusion as he remains utterly still. Success.

Spike is confused. He doesn’t understand what he was doing asleep in the bed of Xander-bloody-Harris. He doesn’t understand why Harris is smiling at him like that. And he doesn’t understand how he can be telling his limbs to lift him up and carry him out of this bed and yet not be moving an inch.

“What the fuck, Harris? Why can’t I move?”

And there’s that smile again. It’s damned unnerving.

“Beg me to tell you what’s going on, Spike.”

Not bloody likely, Spike thinks. But he can hear words coming out of his mouth.

“Please, Harris. Please tell me what’s going on. I’m begging you.”

Rage courses through Spike but his body remains utterly still.

“What the hell? I didn’t want to just say that. Harris!”

The boy just looks down at him, utterly calm. Spike goes from unnerved to terrified.

“Call me Xander,” the boy says.

“Xander,” Spike says.

“Picked up a spell today, Spike. Wanna know what it does?”

Spike doesn’t answer.

“Answer, Spike.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Answer truthfully.”

“Yes, I do.”

“It makes you obey every word I say.”

“Wh—what?”

“I control you. But the lovely thing is, you’re not brainwashed. You get to be fully conscious of—and hopefully very angry about—the fact that you are now my slave.”

“Your slave? Have you gone completely round the bend, Ha—Xander?”

“See there? Couldn’t do it. I told you to call me Xander and now you have to.”

“Maybe I just wanted to call you Xander.”

“Right. Like you just want to be lying completely still on that bed. Like you just want to stand up and strip for me.”

“You’re not seri—”

“Stand up and strip for me, Spike.”

And Spike still can’t wrap his mind around the fact that all of a sudden he can move, has to move. Has to stand and pull off his duster. Has to drop the duster to the floor and slide his arms out of his red overshirt. Has to grasp the bottom of his black t-shirt and pull it over his head. Has to reach down to untie his Docs and pull them off his feet followed by his socks. Has to unfasten the button of his jeans…

“You can stop there,” Xander says and Spike feels immense relief. At least the boy’s not going to…

“Don’t look so relieved. I did mean slave in every possible dirty sense of the word that I know you can imagine. And we’ll get there. But right now I kinda like you like this. Why don’t you do a little turn for me, Spike? Nice and slow. Let me see what’s mine now.”

Spike finds himself turning slowly.

“Don’t be an idiot, Xander. Let me go. If you don’t let me go now, I will get free eventually and then I’ll make you pay for this. Chip or no chip, I will kill you.”

“Sorry, Spike, too busy ogling that sweet ass—my ass, the one you’re showing off to me—to feel threatened.”

Spike, still turning, tries another tact.

“I don’t get it. What do you care about my ass? I thought you liked girls.”

“You can stop turning now. And I do. But not as much as I like slave boys, apparently.” Spike watches as Xander rubs a significant erection through his jeans. “See how much I like slave boys. Should I make you answer to that? Slave boy? Or maybe just boy? Or maybe slut? Or whore? Or just mine? It’s so hard to decide. Tell you what, Spike. I’ll let you decide. Choose one.”

And Spike wants to refuse to choose his own humiliation, but he’s already answering, “Slut.”

And Xander’s smiling again and Spike wants to slap that smile off of his face and he probably can if he does it before Xander orders him not to, but that will set the chip off and then there will undoubtedly be other consequences.

“Interesting,” Xander says. “I wonder why you chose that one. But then, I don’t have to wonder. Tell me, Slut.”

“I chose it because it’s the only one that doesn’t explicitly connote ownership or domination.”

“Interesting reasoning. Of course, the thing about sluts is: they want it. Do you want this Spike? Is this making you hard? I bet it is. I bet you can’t help yourself.”

To Spike’s horror, he can actually feel himself getting hard.

“You made that happen,” he accuses.

Xander shakes his head. “I didn’t order anything. I was just asking a question. Now answer it, Slut. Is this making you hard?”

“No.”

“Answer truthfully.”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, I think you’ve chosen the right name. Which reminds me: Let me go ahead and get some rules implanted in that oh-so-suggestible head of yours. First, to review, you answer to Slut or Spike. And you answer with ‘Yes, Xander’—or occasionally, ‘No, Xander.’ Second, you do not leave this apartment unless I have ordered you to accompany me somewhere. If I order you to accompany me, you will walk by my side when we are outside and stay in the same room as me when we’re inside, unless I tell you specifically otherwise. Third, you do not tell anyone anything about this spell or our current situation. Nothing. You will lie if necessary and you will do so convincingly. Fourth, you can speak your mind here for all the good it’ll do you, but you will treat me with total respect in the presence of anyone else…. I think that’s it for now. I’d make you repeat the rules, but there’s no need—you wouldn’t be able to disobey if you tried.”

“Please, Xander. Whatever I’ve done—everything I’ve ever done—to make you angry enough to do this, I’m sorry. I’m sorry and I’ll make it up to you however you want. Just end this, please.”

Spike hates how desperate he sounds, but hopes maybe he can reach the inner white knight. Xander just laughs.

“But I think you’re already making it up to me just the way I want, Slut. Now go fix me lunch.”

Part Two

“Yes, Xander,” Spike hears himself answer as his legs propel him into the kitchen.

“And, hey, if you make something gross, I’m just gonna make you make it again,” Xander calls after him.

But he needn’t have bothered. Spike has already recognized that he’s going to have to choose his battles very carefully from now on and lunch isn’t going to be one of them.

Making lunch is a very strange experience. Besides the obvious humiliation of domestic servitude, it’s just an odd mixture of force and free will. Xander hasn’t told him what to make or how to make it, so Spike controls any number of decisions as he works. And yet, all along there is this force in his mind compelling him not to stop, to keep moving, to keep deciding, to reach the vague but vital goal of lunch. Spike toys a bit with that force at first, trying not to decide between chicken noodle and tomato soup to go with the grilled cheese sandwiches. But he finds that his mind clicks along in spite of itself complete with justifications about how there are more cans of tomato in the cupboard and therefore it’s probably been longer since Xander’s had it, which means it would probably represent a nice change.

When Spike stops trying to disrupt the process, he finds that he can easily carry on whole other thought processes while the lunch-focused part of his brain is on autopilot. Ought to try that later, he thinks, when the boy is having his way with me. Close my eyes and think of bloody England. But for now it’s useful in giving him time to strategize. Having sensed absolutely no fear from Xander in response to his earlier threats, Spike decides not to return to that tactic. Not that trying to plead with the boy had gone any better…

Something in Spike’s brain is trying to get his attention. He looks down and finds that he’s finished with lunch. The soup is in a bowl, which is sitting on a plate, surrounded by the sandwiches, which have been neatly sliced diagonally. It’s a sickeningly perfect picture and Spike has the perverse urge to mess it up—knock the sandwiches out of alignment or spit in the soup—but he resists.

“It’s ready,” he calls instead.

“Bring it in here, Slut,” Xander calls from the living room.

“Yes, Xander.” Spike’s hands pick up the plate and his legs start to move.

“Oh, but you can grab yourself some blood from the fridge first and put it in a mug…. Don’t heat it up, though.”

Damn it, how is the boy so good at this? Spike thinks as he sets the plate back down and opens the refrigerator. How does he know that it’s the little things—the tiny denials, the most insignificant displays of absolute control—that slowly shred the pride? Spike is also surprised by the amount of blood in the fridge, bag after bag stacked neatly on one shelf. Guess he’s planning to keep me around for awhile...

“Hurry up, Slut! I’m hungry!”

And now Spike’s hand are moving rapidly, but Spike barely notices because the free part of his will is focused entirely on the blood flowing to his crotch at Xander’s tone. Buggering hell, he cannot—will not—let the boy think that he gets off on being dominated. He’s the Big Bad, for Christ’s sake. The Big Bad who is currently scurrying—scurrying, damn it—into the living room to deliver lunch to Xander Harris.

“Why thank you, Spike,” Xander says as he takes the plate. “This looks delicious. You’re such a good little slut. Now sit down and drink your blood.”

Feeling like a bloody two-year-old, Spike starts to sit next to Xander on the couch.

“At my feet, Spike.”

“Yes, Xander,” Spike hears himself saying as he sinks to the floor and starts sipping petulantly at his cold blood.

After a few minutes, Xander reaches down and starts running his hand over Spike’s head. The movements feel so natural that it takes Spike a minute to realize what’s happening and freak out.

“Quit petting me!” he snaps.

“Excuse me?” Xander says, making a fist in Spike hair and pulling none too gently. “I think you’re forgetting who gives the orders here, Slut. And I think you’re done with your blood. Go put the mug in the kitchen, then get in the shower. I want the hair gel gone. It interferes with my petting you. And don’t be in there for more than five minutes. Come back naked and dripping.”

Spike has set the half full mug of blood in the kitchen and is headed for the bathroom when Xander adds:

“Oh, and don’t think I don’t know how hard you are right now. But you will not touch yourself in the shower. You will never touch yourself or come without my express permission. See you in five.”

Part Three

Since Xander hasn’t told him he can’t, Spike makes his five-minute shower icy cold. By the time the gel is out, his erection is down to a level that almost passes for not entirely humiliating. Though, he supposes he should start learning to accept humiliation…

But not today. He holds his head high as his legs carry him into the living room naked and dripping as ordered. When he first catches Xander’s eyes, the heat and lust burning in them stops him in his tracks. It’s all he can do to keep his cock from responding.

It helps when Xander’s expression turns to a smirk.

“Looks like somebody took a cold shower. I suppose I didn’t tell you not to. Still, I want you the way you were before. Stroke that cock for me, Slut. Make it nice and hard again.”

And so much for self-control. Xander’s words are already making Spike hard, even before his hand starts to follow Xander’s instructions. And he isn’t going to last long like this—naked and on display, helplessly performing for Xander, who is leaning back on the couch, legs spread wide, stroking his own hard-on through his jeans. Except that he’s going to last forever like this if Xander wants him to because he can’t come—no matter how much he wants to, no matter how much its going to start to hurt.

“I don’t get it,” Spike begins, in an effort to take his mind off things and maybe get some answers. His hand strokes merrily away as he continues. “Why are you doing this? Even if you really hate me that much—and I always kind of thought we had a decent banter going—but even if you do hate me that much, this still isn’t like you.”

Xander shrugs. “People change. Let’s just say I’m expanding my horizons. And I gotta say, I’m liking the view.”

Spike follows Xander’s leering gaze down to his own hand, then quickly looks up again.

“Okay, so you’ve got a kink for domination. I can respect that. But why me? And don’t you know that the sub’s not really supposed to unwilling?”

“Call me unconscionable, but I just can’t seem to care about willing right now. But I do have my reasons. And I will tell you… when I feel like it. Anyway, let’s have a little less talk, a little more masturbation. And moaning, Slut. I want to hear you moan.”

Once the moaning starts, Spike finds it much more difficult to ignore the humiliating pleasure building in his cock, his belly, the base of his spine. Building to the edge between pleasure and pain.

Xander meets Spike’s eyes to give him a knowing look, looks back down. Then he speaks, never taking his eyes of Spike’s crotch or his hand off his own.

“How does it feel, Slut? To be that hard and not be able to stop touching yourself? To know that you won’t be allowed to come?”

Spike moans.

“Oh, right. You can talk to answer. Tell me. How does it feel?”

“Not so great.”

Xander laughs. A sound Spike is coming to hate.

“Not so great. You’re fucking adorable. I could let you stop. Give you something else to do. If you want. What do you think, Slut? Want something else to do?”

“Doesn’t really matter what I think, does it? Only matters what you say.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, when he’s right, he’s right. Maybe he deserves a prize. Let me think. What do sluts like?” Xander looks off into the distance for a second, as if in serious contemplation. “I know. Sluts like to suck cock. So don’t say I never did anything nice for you. Now, stop touching yourself, get on your hands and knees, and crawl over here.”

And just like that, Spike finds himself crawling. When he arrives at Xander’s knees, he feels Xander’s fingers threading through his ungelled hair, petting him again. It feels almost like tenderness, but he knows it can’t be and he hates it and hates himself for not wanting it to stop. It’s almost a relief when he hears Xander’s voice.

“Sucked a lot of cock in your long life, Slut?”

“My fair share.”

Xander laughs again. “I love that you’re still cocky, naked and kneeling at my feet. And you wonder why I chose you.”

And somehow these words give Spike a certain sense of pride. So when Xander unbuttons and unzips his jeans with one hand while he uses the other hand in Spike’s hair to guide Spike’s head into his crotch, then orders Spike to, “Give me the best blow job you’ve got,” and Spike complies, Spike is almost pleased to hear the whimpers, groans and dirty babbling that pour uncontrollably from Xander’s mouth.

And for a second, as Xander nears his climax, Spike forgets that he isn’t just doing this because Xander has such a beautiful cock and tastes so good, forgets what Xander is making of him… until Xander pulls out and comes all over Spike’s face.

Part Four

Spike remains on his knees in front of Xander. When Xander recovers from his orgasm, he starts petting Spike again. Spike keeps his head down and tries to ignore Xander’s hand, but then that hand is under his chin and tilting his face upward. Xander studies his face and smiles.

“God, you’re beautiful like this—covered in my spunk.”

Spike shivers, but doesn’t speak.

“And that was the best blow job you— I’ve ever had. Such a good, good slut. Tell me. Tell me you’re my good slut.”

“I’m your good slut.”

“Yes, you are.” Still holding Spike’s chin, Xander reaches out with his other hand and starts petting Spike’s hair again. “I have to shower now. Get ready for the Scooby meeting. Should I let you shower with me? Or should I make you go to the meeting with dried come flaking off your face?”

Spike doesn’t answer.

“Maybe you 'd like that. Maybe you think that if the others can see what’s going on, they’ll come to your rescue. Tell me, Spike, is that what you think? Do you think they care about a slut like you?”

“No, Xander.”

“Do you think they need you, Slut?”

“No, Xander.”

“You’re probably right. But I think I could find a use for you. Hell, with blowjobs like that, I might keep you around forever. Tell me, Slut, would you like that?”

“No, Xander.”

“Haven’t you been hoping someone would want you?”

“No, Xander.”

“You haven’t been longing, deep down, to be needed?”

“No, Xander.”

“Fine. Whatever you say, Spike. C’mon. Let’s take that shower now.”

Spike follows Xander into the bathroom. They stand in the tiny space, facing each other.

“Undress me, Spike, and tell you don’t like serving me.”

“I don’t like serving you,” Spike says as he pulls Xander’s shirt over his head. He unbuttons Xander’s jeans, slides the zipper down and pushes them down Xander’s legs along with his boxers. Xander steps out of them.

“Start the water and tell me you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

“I’d rather be anywhere but here,” Spike says as he turns on the water. He adjusts the temperature and Xander steps in, pulling Spike in after him.

Xander pushes him back under the spray so that the water pours over Spike’s head and runs down his face. Xander uses his hands to wipe away the come.

“Kiss me like you love me and tell me that you hate me.”

Spike leans forward to kiss Xander, slow and deep, before pulling away.

“I hate you.”

Xander fills one hand with shower gel and rubs it against the other one, then smoothes them both over Spike’s chest. Spike’s nipples pucker under his palms. He pinches and twists one between the thumb and finger of each hand.

“Tell me you hate how I make you feel.”

The words come out between gasps now.

“I hate… how you… make me… feel.”

Xander turns Spike around.

“Put your hands against the wall, spread your legs, and tell me that you can’t be owned.”

Spike presses his hands against the tile and steps his feet apart.

“I can’t be owned,” he whispers, as Xander’s fingers, slick with shower gel, press their way gently but insistently inside him. One brushes his prostate, making his body jerk.

Xander leans over and growls in Spike’s ear. “I’ll never be yours. Say it.”

“I’ll never be yours,” Spike says as on a moan as Xander slides his fingers out, leaving him empty.

“Again.”

“I’ll never be yours,” Spike says with a gasp as Xander’s cock fills the emptiness.

“Again.”

“I’ll… never… be… yours,” Spike chokes out between thrusts. He’s never been so filled, so desperate in his life.

“One… more… time,” Xander orders, his grip tight on Spike’s hips as he drives himself in again and again. “Then you can come.”

It’s all Spike can do to whimper the words that will bring him release. “I’ll never… be yours.”

He comes so hard he passes out.

Part Five

Spike comes around to a sharp stinging in his nipple. He is laid out on the bed and Xander is straddling his hips. He looks down just in time to see the tip of needle Xander is holding emerge on the other side of the pink, puckered flesh.

“Jesus! What the fuck are you doing?” Spike makes as if to squirm away.

“Hold still,” Xander mutters, effectively freezing Spike in place. “I just need to get the ring in.”

“Christ. You couldn’t wait until I was conscious?”

“Why? It’s not like I was going to ask if you minded,” Xander points out absently, most of his concentration on inserting the small silver loop. “Consider yourself lucky that I decided the other piercings I want you to have should really be done by a professional. I mean, vampire healing aside, no point in risking something I might want to play with later…”

Finished with the first loop, moves to the other nipple.

“Ouch!”

“Quit being a baby. Besides,” Xander rolls his denim-clad hips against Spike’s naked cock, which is responding quite favorably to the piercing procedure, “you obviously like it.”

“Do not.”

“A slut and a liar.”

“Is that what this is about? If I admit that I li— that I get off on this, will you stop?”

Xander secures the other ring and sits back to admire his handiwork.

“No. Feel like admitting it anyway, Slut?”

“No, Xander.”

“That’s my boy,” Xander smiles as he lifts himself off of Spike. “Get dressed and go grab yourself some blood. Cold. Then we have one more piece of jewelry to put on you and we can go to the meeting.”

Spike finds his clothes beside him on the bed. He stands up and pulls them on, then goes into the kitchen and gets out the blood, moving as slowly as his mind will let him. He knows what’s coming.

“Quit stalling.” The voice from behind startles Spike and he almost drops his mug. Christ, what’s happening to him? How did Xander get so close without him noticing? “It won’t do you any good and I don’t want to be late.”

Spike downs the remaining contents of the mug in one long swallow.

“Turn around.”

Spike turns to face Xander, his eyes going directly to Xander’s hands. A short silver chain of thick, heavy links hangs between them. Spike looks at the ground.

“Look at me and ask me to put in on you.”

Spike feels his head lift to meet Xander’s eyes. “Put it on me.”

“Doesn’t sound like asking…”

“Please?”

“Please what?”

“Please put it on me.”

“Please put what on you, Slut?”

“Please put the… jewelry on me.”

“Try again.”

“Please put the collar on me.”

Xander’s smile shows satisfaction and maybe… tenderness?… as he settles the chain around Spike’s throat.

“Anything for you.”

Spike can feel Xander’s fingers at the back of his neck, fastening the clasp. The collar is heavy, the kind of thing you don’t forget you’re wearing.

Xander steps back and then disappears for a second, reappearing with Spike’s duster. He helps Spike into it, straightens the collar, runs his fingertips over the chain.

“Perfect… Now, come on. Off to the Magic Box.”

No one seems to find it odd when Spike follows Xander into the Magic Box. Research is underway and no one spares them more than a “hey” before Giles hands them each a couple of books and tells them what they’re looking for. Spike deliberately sits in a lone chair slightly removed from any other open seats. Xander says nothing and sits down by Willow. Xander pretends to focus on his book, but Spike can feel those eyes on him.

A few minutes later, Spike notices Xander whispering to Willow. He’s tempted take advantage of the distraction, to sneak off to look for some books on spell reversal. He shifts in his chair, but suddenly Xander appears behind him, leaning over his shoulder, feigning interest in Spike’s book. His lips almost brush Spike’s ear. His voice is low.

“Don’t even think about it, Slut.” Spike feels Xander slip something into his hand. “I wanna fuck you. Go behind the shelves, prepare yourself and come right back. No private research.”

Xander straightens up and returns to his seat. Spike looks down at his hand and finds a small tube of lubricant. He feels Xander’s gaze follow him as he slips away from the group.

As he stands behind a bookshelf, bent slightly at the waist, jeans at mid-thigh with one… two… three of his own slick fingers sliding against each other inside his ass, Spike half expects Xander to sneak up from behind, rip out the fingers and replace them with his hard cock. Spike’s body hums in anticipation.

But Xander doesn’t appear, so Spike removes the fingers and wipes them on his jeans as he pulls those jeans up and zips and buttons them carefully over a substantial erection. He goes back out and sits in the chair again, but he can no longer even pretend to concentrate on research. He keeps stealing glances at Xander.

Every time Xander walks past him, every time Xander opens his mouth to speak… hell, every time Xander so much as shifts in his chair, Spike tenses, growing even harder in anticipation. But Xander seems to be ignoring him, leaving Spike with no coherent thoughts except to wonder when and how it’s going to happen, when and how Xander’s going to fuck him.

And of course Spike knows that Xander knows this, is deliberately driving him crazy, but that doesn’t make it any less effective. It seems like hours before Buffy announces that it’s time to patrol.

“Things seem pretty calm for the moment, so we should be fine just splitting up and doing a quick sweep. I’ll take Riley and head north. Willow, you and Tara go west. Xander, you take Spike and go south.”

“Roger that, Buff.”

And Spike doesn’t know how Xander can sound so innocent and cheerful. As if it’s just another Scooby night, as if his mind isn’t occupied with plotting the mind fuck and then the fuck fuck of the sworn enemy he’s spent the day turning into his personal sex slave.

“C’mon, Spike.”

Spike follows Xander out the door and they head south. Xander isn’t talking—nothing dirty, nothing clean, just nothing. And damned if Spike is going to break the silence, but he’s really hoping they can find something to kill… and soon. Because he swears he’s going to shatter if he doesn’t get some kind of release….

Twenty long and silent minutes later, Spike gets his wish. Five cocky fledges stalk toward them. Spike doesn’t even give Xander enough time to pull out a stake. With a bare minimum of witty banter, he dusts four in quick succession before gleefully tearing the head off the fifth.

As the dust settles, Spike feels like himself again for the first time all day. Then he hears Xander’s voice.

“Bend over.”

Part Six

As they walk back to the apartment, Xander still isn’t talking. But something about this silence seems different to Spike. Xander’s steps are slow, forced, almost distracted. Gone are all traces of the confident, controlled and cruelly clever Xander who just finished fucking Spike over a tombstone, calling him “slut,” “bitch,” and “dirty whore,” demanding “take it deeper” and “squeeze me harder,” and making Spike beg before finally ordering him to come. Now, just five minutes later, the silence feels nothing like the earlier mind fucking silence and Xander seems nothing but weary.

When they reach the apartment and get inside Spike is surprised to hear himself asking:

“What’s wrong?”

Xander sighs and shoves a hand roughly through his hair.

“Nothing, Spike. Just… just go to bed.”

And Spike feels this insane urge to comfort the man who has spent all day degrading and humiliating him, but Xander’s dismissal has saved him from himself and his legs are already carrying him toward the bedroom.

But being told to go to bed does not force Spike to go to sleep and he finds he can’t sleep, can only lie awake in the dark staring at the ceiling and wonder what his life will be from now on. Wonder what he wants it to be, not that it matters. Wonder about Xander.

He is still staring and wondering two hours later when Xander finally enters the bedroom.

“Still awake?” Xander asks quietly.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither. I tried to. On the couch.”

Xander begins to undress. He seems to hesitate over the boxers for a moment, but finally removes them and climbs into bed naked next to Spike who is still wearing jeans and a tee-shirt… and his collar. The silence stretches between them.

“Spike?”

“Yes, Xander?”

“I… I want you to… I’m just going to lie here and I want you to do whatever you want to me. But it has to be what you really want to do. Deep down. Not just what you think you should do because you’re afraid of me or anything. I mean, you can’t drain me, but you could hit me if you wanted. I won’t stop you or punish you for it later. Just do what you want to do to me. That’s an order.”

Spike doesn’t know which of them is more surprised when Spike rolls until he’s half on top of Xander and leans down to kiss him.

Xander responds—gentle, searching—and the kiss deepens. Spike wants nothing more than to explore Xander’s mouth at that moment, so that’s what he does. That’s what he has to do. Spike doesn’t understand it, but it doesn’t matter, because he can’t actually stop. Then he wants more.

He finds himself rolling away and standing, stripping out of his shirt and jeans. Then he crawls back onto the bed and straddles Xander, who continues to lie still as promised. He tries to read Xander’s face. Hope? Relief? He can’t be sure, but what he wants is to continue and so he watches as his hands reach out to slide over Xander’s chest, as if seeking to map every inch of the warm flesh. Once the hands are satisfied, the lips follow.

After Xander’s torso, he moves to Xander’s face. After Xander’s face, he moves to Xander’s cock. But hands and lips aren’t enough there. Carefully holding it steady, Spike positions himself and, still slick and stretched from earlier, sinks down easily onto Xander’s cock.

Spike watches the play of emotion on Xander’s face as he lifts and lowers his hips, tries to make sense of the desire and need he sees there. But suddenly, what Spike is doing is no longer enough. He stops and Xander looks up at him.

“What is it? Why’d you stop?”

“This isn’t what I want.”

Xander’s face falls.

“I don’t want it like this,” Spike continues. “I want you to be over me, taking me, making me yours.”

And Xander doesn’t need to be told twice. In an instant, he’s on top, with one of Spike’s legs draped over his shoulder, thrusting for all he’s worth as he bends down to take a nipple ring between his teeth, runs his tongue along over Spike’s neck, following the edge of the collar. And Spike is gasping and panting and doing all sorts of other sexy, breathy things that vampires shouldn’t do. And they’re both so close now and Spike is trying to say something.

“I… I want… want you to… tell me… tell me to come.”

The words make Xander thrust harder, which shouldn’t even be possible.

“Oh god, Spike. Please. Please, baby. Come for me.”

Spike does. And Xander does, collapsing on top of Spike. A few minutes later, Xander rolls off and disappears, reappearing with a washcloth, which he uses to clean them both up. Tossing the washcloth aside, he lies back down and pulls Spike close. They fall asleep easily in each other’s arms.

Xander sits on the side of the bed and leans over Spike’s sleeping form to cup his face.

“Spike? Spike, baby, wake up.”

Spike blinks a few times before his eyes open for real.

“Xan? What’s going on? Feels like I’ve been asleep for days.”

“No, just about eight hours. Must be an after-effect of the spell.”

“Spell?”

Xander slides his thumb over Spike’s cheek.

“Spike, can you remember yesterday?”

Spike closes his eyes for a second to think, then opens them wide, wide, wider. With true vampire speed, he reaches up and yanks Xander’s head down to his, engulfing Xander’s lips in a turn-the-amp-up-to-eleven kind of kiss.

Xander melts into Spike. God, it feels good to be kissed willingly… and who needs to breathe anyway? When Spike finally pulls back, Xander laughs, stretching out on the bed and settling into Spike’s side.

“Um, you’re welcome?”

“How?” Spike asks.

“Like we talked about. I went to that sketchy magic shop on the other side of town and got a mind-control spell. Only I also got another spell to make you forget—for twenty-four hours—everything about our relationship since the time that we stopped hating each other.”

“Christ, that’s bloody brilliant. You were bloody brilliant.”

“So you liked it then?”

“Liked it? Are you kidding? I was terrified. It was perfect.”

“It wasn’t over the top? I mean, I was afraid the ‘slut’ thing was a little too clichéd, and when I came on your face…”

“Perfect, all of it, I promise. I didn’t know you had it in you, luv. You made it feel so real.”

“That was the spells.”

“No, that was you.”

“Well, I’m glad it worked for you.”

“Worked for me? Xander, you fulfilled my deepest fantasy. You fulfilled it in ways I couldn’t even have imagined. You took me apart and then put me back together. As yours. Completely.”

Spike seems to savor this idea for a moment, then flashes a sexy smirk.

“Question is: did you enjoy it?”

Xander considers.

“Well, it was kinda weird at first… It was hard to be as mean as I thought you’d want me to be, you know? … and I didn’t like seeing you scared of me… And I got worried there at the end... I was afraid maybe you hadn’t really wanted any of it….”

“But…?”

“But I guess for awhile there, in the middle… I kinda got into it.”

“Kinda?”

“Okay, really into it. It was so hot, having complete control over you, being able to make you do whatever I wanted… whether you wanted to or not. I don’t think I’ve ever been that hard in my entire life and… Oh my god, you have totally corrupted me.”

“And apparently I’ve done a damn fine job of it.”

“Stop looking so smug, Spike.”

Spike’s smug expression disappears immediately. “Yes, Xander.”

Spike freezes, then turns accusing eyes on Xander. “Wait a minute. You said it was a 24-hour spell.”

“Actually, I said the memory spell was twenty-four hours. The mind-control spell has to be reversed.”

“Oh really? And are you planning to do that anytime soon?”

“Maybe.”

Spike raises a sexy eyebrow. “Feel like playing a little longer, do you?”

“Well, that too, but mostly I just want you to make me lunch.”

“Xander…” Spike warns.

Xander just smirks and looks Spike straight in the eye. “Go make me lunch, Spike.”

“Yes, Xander.” Xander keeps grins as Spike jumps up and walks out of the bedroom.

“You wanker!” Xander hears his lover yell from the kitchen over the sounds of cupboards opening and shutting. “You are so going to pay for this!”

Xander’s smile only widens as he lounges back on the bed.

“God, I hope so.”

The End

So, I had to ask some of you to trust me to make this okay in the end, and if you're still reading, you obviously did. So, tell me, did I come through for you?

If you liked it, try reading it again. I think you can get a whole different reading of Xander...

Sequel ~ If You Want

So... midnight last night found me parked out behind the public library finishing up this porn and using the library's wireless connection to run it by reremouse on Yahoo!Messenger. Suddenly, bright lights flooded the car from behind.

A few minutes passed (calling in my license plate, no doubt) before the policeman approached my window. He asked what I was doing and I told him (the part about using the internet connection, not the part about writing gay porn, though I should have). He asked me if I was hiding something (because my elbows were back from the way I type while sitting in my car with my laptop in my lap) and I showed him my hands. He asked me some other questions. He asked to see my ID and I showed that to him, too. He called my name in through his radio. I asked him if there was a problem with what I was doing. He refused to say it was a problem, but suggested I go into the front library parking lot (though he warned me that they might find me suspicious there, too).

He went away. I went to the front parking lot. The signal strength in the front parking lot blows. Eventually, I went back to where I'd been before. But I wrapped up my convo with Rere (and the porn scene) pretty quickly and headed on home. The whole thing was creepy. All I'd been doing was sitting by myself in my car with no one else around. I felt like a criminal.

Geez, the lengths I go to to give ladycat777 her belated birthday porn!

The girl in question wanted submissive Spike with reluctant sex and enjoyment. Since I love dominant Xander, I was happy to oblige. Happy belated birthday, baby. Hope you enjoy.

This story is a sequel fic to "Fulfilling a Fantasy." It picks up maybe a month or so after the original story and takes place well before the other fic in the 'verse, "Goo." I might stand alone okay, but is probably better with the rest. Oh, and it's as non-con as "Fulfilling a Fantasy" was.

Make it real.

The words bounce around in Xander’s head the way they have all day. All week.

Make it real.

He’s been thinking about how—the hows, the whats, the little details—and his distraction has made the day long. Made the hours crawl by, turned every phone conversation into an incoherent but annoying buzz in his ear, and the sound of the trailer door snicking shut has never been so sweet. Xander throbs with nervous energy. It takes a couple of tries to lock the door behind himself.

Make it real.

As ready as he is for the work day to be over, Xander isn’t sure he’s ready to go home. Isn’t sure he can do it.

But he wants to do it.

To make it real.

He takes a deep breath and starts for home.

If there were anything left to break, Spike would break it.

Well, except for TV. Which is just as well, since there’s a match on.

Not that he can watch it. Not that he can do anything but growl and pace and worry and wonder and wish there were at least a lamp left. Lovely sound, the shattering of a lamp.

It’s been nine hours. Nine hours since he woke to Xander’s hands on his throat, callused fingertips tracing the silver links that mark him as Xander’s. Nine hours since Xander leaned in, whispered two words in his ear and left.

Two words and the bastard left.

Two words.

”Be good.”

Turns out the order left room for interpretation.

Something it didn’t take Xander too long to realize. It’s been seven hours since the phone rang and Spike was stupid enough to answer.

”Don’t break the TV.”

So the match plays on on the undamaged TV and when Spike hears the key in the lock, he throws himself onto the couch in front of it, arms behind his head, booted feet propped on the arm—the picture of indifference.

“Hey, honey, I’m home. Did you have a nice day?”

From under his eyelashes, Spike watches Xander enter the apartment, watches Xander take off his jacket and place his leather bag on the counter—watches Xander survey the destruction without blinking an eye. Watches Xander smile, the bloody wanker.

“You’re like a disgruntled pet.” Xander tilts his head and laughs. “Actually, I guess you are a disgruntled pet, huh? I was only gone for a few hours. Did you miss me that much?”

Fuck you, Spike wants to say, but he doesn’t want to give Xander the satisfaction… or any ideas. He says nothing. The wanker just keeps smiling.

“Sulking? You’re so fucking adorable.” Xander has to know how much he hates to be called adorable. “Now get your fucking boots off the couch, sweetheart.”

The smile is gone but not the calm, the control. And it sends shivers down Spike’s spine, makes him hard. Humiliates him, makes him burn. Instead of sitting up, Spike reaches down to undo the laces of his Docs, then toes off the boots over the end of the couch, settling back into his insolent lounge.

Xander seems to love it.

“God, you’re perfect. Such a brat. And so mine. All weekend long. TGIF, I say.” Spike doesn’t respond. Xander walks into the kitchen and returns with an open beer, kicks off his own shoes and sinks into his armchair. “And you say nothing. Which is fine, for now. I want you to stand up, take off the rest of your clothes, walk over here, get on your knees and suck me off. Then I’m gonna order pizza and take a shower while you clean up this mess.” Xander pauses. “And then we’re gonna talk. About last night.”

Spike’s body is already on its feet, his hands stripping off his shirt, his jeans. “No,” he says.

Naked, he walks to Xander’s chair and starts to kneel, but Xander stops him.

“Hold on.” Spike holds. “No? You’ve refused to say a word to me since I got home and now you say ‘no’?”

It’s worse standing in front of Xander naked than it would be kneeling, but his mind is taking the order to “hold on” very seriously and he can’t bend his knees.

And he can’t talk about last night. Can’t talk about how, after just one day in Xander’s control, when told to do what he wanted, he’d all but begged Xander to fuck him. He can’t talk about that.

But if Xander orders him, he will.

“Please,” Spike says.

“No and please. Just out of curiosity—because it’s not like you get to say no to anything—but no-please what?”

“Please don’t make me talk about last night.”

“And why wouldn’t you want to talk about last night? Maybe it’s because…”

“Please.”

Xander seems to consider. “And if I let you off the hook, what’s in it for me?”

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

“But see, that’s the thing.” Xander reaches out and runs a finger along the side of Spike’s cock. “You already do whatever I want.” Spike’s hard cock. “And you love it. But, wait—that’s what you didn’t want to talk about. Sorry.”

Spike waits.

“I’m more interested in what you want, but I think we might be able to work something out. On your knees now, sweetheart”

Spike doesn’t quite hide his flinch as he folds to his knees.

“Yes?” Xander asks.

It’s not a direct order and Spike wants to say “nothing,” but he doesn’t dare. He looks up.

“Why ‘sweetheart’? Used to be ‘slut.’”

Xander runs his fingers through Spike’s hair. “Don’t you think I like you, Spike?”

That’s an easy one. “No, Xander.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, sweetheart.” Cue creepy smile. “What’s not to like?”

Spike doesn’t answer.

“Does it bother you when I call you sweetheart?”

It does. So much more than slut.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Spike can still lie. He shakes his head. “No, Xander.”

“Good boy. Now, want to remind me why you’re down there again?”

It’s not an order. Spike has full control of his hands as he reaches out, unbuttons and unzips Xander’s pants, works Xander’s cock free of his trousers, guides it into his mouth.

Xander sighs his contentment and Spike focuses in on his task, turning the sigh into gasps, pants, moans… and then back to a sigh again. Spike sits back on his heels as Xander slumps into the chair.

“See, sweetheart? What’s not to like? Want to hand me the phone?” Another non-order. Spike carries it out. Xander orders a pizza. “Now, I’ve got thirty minutes or less for a nice, hot shower. Clean up this mess and drink some blood.”

Xander stands and walks to the bathroom, stops at the door and turns back, looks Spike up and down as Spike takes a broom and dustpan from the closet.

“Oh,” Xander’s eyes flicker over Spike’s hard on, “and you can get yourself off… if you want.”



Spike doesn’t lay a hand on his cock, is as hard when Xander returns from the shower as he was when Xander left. Harder, actually, though he’d never admit it.

Something about Xander’s look says he already knows.

“Good boy.”

The phone rings and Xander buzzes the delivery boy up, takes some money from his wallet on the counter and hands it to Spike. A knock comes on the door.

“Answer that,” Xander says as he settles himself on the couch to watch. “If you want, you can put on pants.”

An order and an offer. A command and a choice. Spike meets Xander’s gaze and holds it for a long second before walking to the door, naked.

The pizza boy does not drop the pizza, the cheesy sticks or the two-liter soda. Clearly a delivery service professional. He does, however, drop his jaw, which makes speech somewhat difficult.

Eyes carefully trained on Spike’s face, the kid extends the pizza box. Spike takes the box and hands over the money. The kid’s eyes drop for a second, then snap back up. Spike notices.

Apparently, Xander notices, too.

“I didn’t have enough cash for a tip. Maybe you want to offer him something, sweetheart?”

Spike turns and sets the pizza on the counter, turns back and steps toward the kid, who hasn’t moved a muscle. The kid’s eyes, on the other hand…

Not to mention some movement on a lower level.

Spike drops to his knees.

“Stand up.” Xander’s voice is soft, but sharp as steel. “Your mouth is mine.”

Spike stands.

“But you can let him touch you, if you want.”

Spike stands still.

The kid’s breath roars in his ears. The kid’s lust fills his nostrils.

His eyes track the kid’s hand as it inches toward him, comes to rest lightly on his chest. Shaking fingertips stutter over the silver ring in one nipple, slide across and dare to pluck at the silver ring in the other.

“Look at me,” Xander says.

Both Spike and the kid turn their heads.

“Not you, kid,” Xander says.

The kid’s attention returns to his task. Spike’s eyes stay on Xander’s.

He doesn’t see, only feels the fingers now—still shaking, as they glide down, carefully tracing each line of his abdomen, sliding over the side of his hip, then in along the crease beneath his pelvic bone and, finally finally, up the underside of his cock. Feather light touch.

Xander’s eyes burn and send shivers skittering through Spike’s body, threatening to shatter him from the inside out.

The fingers curl and squeeze.

Spike’s eyes plead.

The kid’s belt chirps.

The kid drops Spike’s cock like it burns… which, of course, it doesn’t. Room temperature, not that the kid’s noticed.

The kid fumbles the cell phone out of its holster, out of his fingers and onto the floor—picks it up again and stares as it continues to chirp.

Xander stands.

“Duty calls,” Xander says, laying a hand on the kid’s shoulder to guide both kid and chirping phone out into the hall. “Have a nice night.”

Xander shuts the door behind the kid, turns and looks Spike up and down. “Don’t move.”

Xander circles behind Spike, takes Spike’s wrists in his hands and lifts them, pushing Spike forward until he’s bent at the waist, hands pressed against the door.

Producing lube from god knows where, Xander enters Spike with slick fingers, takes hold of Spike’s hips and fucks Spike into the wall.

Xander eats the pizza cold.

Xander leans over Spike in the bed—combs fingers through shower-wet hair, smoothes a thumb over shower-warm skin, kisses his almost-sleeping beauty as he unclasps the silver chain collar.

“Come back to me, baby,” he whispers. “Just for a minute, to tell me you’re okay.”

Drooping lids lift and it’s his Spike he sees staring back through blue eyes. His Spike smiles and Xander dips in for another kiss.

“Did I do okay?”

Spike smiles. “God, luv. More than. Perfect. You were born for this. Born to own me.”

Xander feels a flush in his cheeks. “I don’t know. Think I’m good with some weekends and special occasions.”

“Weekend’s not over yet.”

“Yeah, I know. Just wanted to check in. What was it like? Did your memory really pick up right where the last spell wore off? You didn’t remember anything in between?”

“Not a thing.”

“And it’s better this way? Than when we just play, I mean? The magic makes it real?”

Spike hand comes up to curl around his jaw, slide down his neck. “You make it real, luv. Magic just helps out a bit.”

“So, it’s good?”

“It’s bloody fantastic, Xan. I promise. Can’t wait to see what you’ve got in store.”

No one does wicked smiles like Spike, but just now, Xander gives him a run for his money.

“Mmm. Tomorrow I’m taking my pet shopping. He’s gonna hate it as much as he loves it.” Xander steals one last kiss. “See you later, baby.”

Xander fastens the collar back around Spike’s neck and lets his pet sleep.

The End

Another Sequel ~ Goo

"Fulfilling a Fantasy" 'verse. There's actually an (unwritten) story or three that go in between where "Fulfilling a Fantasy" left off and this fic begins, so some inference may be required, but I did this now as a belated birthday gift for eliade, who asked for "some romantic slavery and some hurt/comfort and some sex." Hope this fits the bill.

You do not have to have read "Fulfilling a Fantasy" (approx. 6,300 words) to read this, but it will probably make a difference in how you see the fic overall. If you haven't read the other, do be warned of a continuing dom/sub theme.

(And, yay, I actually wrote something! Thanks to reremouse for helping it not be crap.)

He sees the silver chain around Spike’s neck and gets hard. Instantly. It’s been a long day and he’s tired, but it’s Pavlovian. Spike’s the sex-slave, but Xander’s the one who’s been trained.

Spike can’t really be asleep—can’t have missed the open and close of the heavy front door, the slap of Xander’s briefcase against the kitchen counter, the “Hey, honey, I’m home”—but he plays the part perfectly, not stirring a bit as Xander stands at the foot of the bed and slips off his suit jacket, tossing it over a chair in the corner without taking his eyes off the sight before him.

It can’t be accidental, the naked sprawl, the tantalizing drape of white satin over alabaster skin, as clean and pure as Xander’s thoughts aren’t, framing more than covering, offering more than hiding.

Mine, Xander thinks as he unbuttons and peels off his shirt, peeling off the site manager and trying to don the master persona. Mine, he repeats as the belt slides out of its loops and drops to floor. Mine. He bends over to unlace and slide off his dress shoes, his head hovering near Spike’s naked foot. He wants to take it in his hand, lick along the pale arch, make Spike shiver and squirm. But later. Mine. His fingers fumble a bit at the button of his slacks, but finally the zipper lowers, and the slacks pool at his feet. What would the men at the site think if they knew their supervisor never wore anything under his pants? Xander’s grin is wicked. Hell, what would they think if they knew that he came home to this? His lover. His whore. His slut. His. Mine.

He’s got the headspace now and Xander steps forward and pulls off the sheet in one fluid motion, sparing only a second to admire the perfect curve of Spike’s ass—his ass, all his—before grasping Spike’s hips and lifting, burying himself to the hilt. He goes in easy, so easy, just like he knew he would and he can see it in his mind—Spike’s preparations for his homecoming.

Spike in the shower, cleaning himself from head to foot, inside and out, with the soap that smells and tastes of cucumbers, Xander’s favorite. Spike standing in the bathroom, drying himself just as thoroughly, forgoing the tube of gel—because he knows Xander hates not being able to run his fingers through Spike’s hair—and picking up the tube of lube instead. Spike, with one foot propped on the toilet seat, squeezing the slick onto his fingers and slowly working those fingers into himself, coating every inch of his loosening passage, making sure not to brush his prostate—because Spike knows that Xander is the one who decides when and how he comes. Spike in the bedroom, laying himself out just so on Xander’s bed, arranging the sheet with the eye of an artist, and then waiting. Waiting for his owner. Waiting to be taken.

The images flow through Xander’s mind and they’re working for him. He can feel cock growing and hardening, pressing out against the tightness that surrounds it as Spike writhes and whimpers beneath him, all pretense of sleep gone.

And Spike is trying to work his hips, work himself on Xander’s cock, but Xander holds tight to those hips, holds them still. Because if Spike moves now, it’ll be over for Xander in seconds, and he knows that’s not what Spike wants, needs. But unless ordered, Spike will not be denied, and Xander has no way to stop the internal clenching and squeezing that’s pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

“Gonna punish you for that,” Xander says, but he doesn’t get the tone quite right, so he tries again, orders Spike to beg instead, and starts moving, thrusting into Spike to the rhythm of the desperate pleas.

“Yes… please…. Xander… Xander… don’t stop… please… Take me…. Fill me… Use me…”

And Xander doesn’t stop. Not until he’s taken Spike, filled Spike, used Spike. Not until the orgasm crashes through him leaving his body brainless and boneless in its wake. He collapses onto Spike, but then rolls off slowly, stretching out on his back. Spike curls around him instantly, wrapping and clinging like a jungle vine—in a jungle where vines have raging erections that you can feel pressing against your hip.

Xander wants to let Spike take care of that, but that’s not how it goes. Spike wants to wait. Spike needs to wait, to be made to wait. What does that song say? You gotta be cruel to be kind, in the right measure…

But Xander wouldn’t mind just staying like this, fingers threaded through Spike’s ungelled hair, cool, soft skin soothing his overheated body, wet little tongue lapping at his neck. Spike is like a cuddly house pet… with benefits. Still, if they don’t move now, Xander’ll be asleep in seconds and he still owes Spike punishment and, eventually, release. A shower would be nice, but he doubts his legs would support him…

“Bath,” he says and Spike immediately slides his body over Xander’s—and, mmm, sliding is of the good—and off the bed, into the bathroom to start the water running.

“Candles. Bubble bath,” Xander calls out and he can hear Spike setting it all up, watches the light in the bathroom go out, replaced by a soft glow. And it’s a strange life Xander leads these days—getting off work and driving home and never knowing for certain who exactly he’ll find when he gets there.

It takes a bit of cajoling, but Xander eventually coaxes his limbs into supporting him and carrying him into the bathroom. He finds Spike kneeling on the fuzzy bathmat and imagines Spike would like for him to take a step forward, bringing his cock within range of Spike’s oh-so-talented mouth. Spike would like for him to tangle his fingers in Spike’s hair as those lips close around the head and slide down the shaft. Spike would like for him to hold Spike’s head in place while he fucks Spike’s mouth hard and fast. Spike would like for him to come down Spike’s throat or to pull out and come all over Spike’s face and chest, marking Spike as his.

And in spite of its recent workout, Xander’s cock is beginning to show some interest in that scenario, but Xander doesn’t step forward. Instead he tilts his head toward the tub and Spike follows the unspoken command, rising up and then lowering himself into the tub. Xander climbs in after Spike, situating himself between Spike’s thighs, his back to Spike’s front, letting the hot water and the scented steam—along with the strong hands that come up to knead the knots out of his back and shoulders—melt him into a puddle of very contented goo.

When he’s too gooey to sit forward anymore, he melts back against Spike’s chest and Spike’s hands slip down off his back to wrap around his waist and Xander picks up those hands and plays idly with Spike’s fingers, which play idly along Xander’s torso and it’s so perfect… except that it’s not.

Because Spike is still hard, pressing against Xander’s back. And it’s not that Xander minds the feeling exactly, but Spike should be gooey, too. They should be two puddles of very contented goo, boneless and brainless and melting into each other amid the water and the steam and the bubbles.

“Get in in front of me,” Xander says and Spike immediately slides out from behind Xander—and again, sliding is so of the good—then slips back in in front of Xander, giving Xander full access to much more than Spike’s hands.

With slow, goo-like rhythms, Xander nibbles and nips at Spike’s neck as he slides one hand up to tease at the rings at Spike’s nipples and the other hand down to circle Spike’s cock. Whispering sweetly dirty things against damp skin, Xander jerks Spike slowly to the edge, pushing him gently over with one word: “Come.”

Spike tenses, arches and then slumps back against Xander, and now there’s nothing in the tub except two gooey bodies, and a bit of gooey spunk, and it’s closer to perfect, but just not quite there. Xander wants gooey words, too.

He reaches up with both hands and traces his fingers along the collar around the Spike’s neck, from front to back, before unclasping the chain and dropping it onto the tub’s edge in a little coiled pile. He strokes his fingers through Spike’s damp curls as Spike comes back to himself.

“Hey,” Spike says.

“Hey.”

“Thought you were gonna punish me.”

Xander shrugs—a motion Spike can’t see but can feel. “Next time, okay? Kinda in the mood for the boyfriend tonight. Disappointed?”

“Nah,” Spike says, picking up Xander’s hands and playing idly with Xander’s fingers, which play idly along Spike’s torso. A silent minute passes and then Spike is out of the tub again and sliding back in behind Xander, arms and legs encircling his lover as he asks, “So, luv, how was your day?”

The End

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